The Fighters: Part II
by Rustito
Summary: [Completed] Glenn Gordon once again finds himself cast into the air for battle when AW2 begins. Rivalries, relationships, and obnoxious loudmouthed fighter pilots are just some of the things he'll have to face...
1. Opening Battle & Schoolwork

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
A summary of this fanfiction piece is as follows:  
  
Glenn Gordon has left Green Earth and is residing in Orange Star, but after succumbing to his love of aviation, he re-enlists, only this time into the Orange Star Air Force, as he feels too shameful to return to what's left of his comrades at the Clinton Air Base. However, skirmishes have been happening ever since the end of the war, and new conflict quickly begins stirring up (getting into full throttle presumably around the beginning of Advance Wars 2 with the inevitable return of Black Hole), forcing Gordon to once again find himself thrown into even worse battles than before. But a heated rivalry quickly developes between he and the most elite Blue Moon (and, if the time comes, Black Hole) pilot in the country's history, and this rivalry threatens to destroy not only Glenn Gordon, but the skilled pilots of his fellow Orange Star pilots, as well...  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission One~  
  
~----~  
  
"Incoming aircraft at ten o'clock. Logan, identify. Keep ready, Gravediggers."  
  
The Orange Star fighter jets, eight in total, cruised along in the air casually, though their pilots weren't necessarily in the mood for acting casual. Four aircraft could be seen in the distance, quite plainly as it was just past seven in the morning. The Gravedigger squadron's air base had recieved intel from recon units that half of a lone Blue Moon squadron was flying in an official No Fly Zone in northern Orange Star, so fighters from the closest base had quickly been launched to order the Blue Mooners out of the restricted zone area. None of them had any idea what the Blue Mooners wanted in this area, but none of them gave a particularly large damn. Their orders were to get them out and they'd do it with or without a fight, whatever it came to.  
  
"I've still got four on radar. Logan, have you identified those fighters yet?" The lead pilot wanted to make sure it was the half-squadron of Blue Mooners before they did anything drastic.  
  
"Negative, lead. I still don't have a direct visual on them." The Orange Star fighter was ahead of its team members by a significant distance, trying to scope out whatever was over there before they took the proper course of action. Even still, though, the No Fly Zone was in effect for all aircraft, not just Blue Mooners but for Orange Stars as well. "Whoever they are, we should try and scare them out of here."  
  
"Lead copies, Logan, but let's get that visual first. We don't need to be getting missile locks on some commercial jet that doesn't know where it's at." The leader scanned out the other areas in the distance, making sure there were no other aircraft that they couldn't for some reason see on radar. It was more of a habit than anything.  
  
Suddenly, the other pilot's voice came back, trying to get something out in a very urgent manner before it cut off. "Lead, I've--"  
  
KA-BOOM!  
  
What in blue hell had that been? The lead pilot had looked away from the other fighter for only a second, but when he looked back, he knew only too well what had already happened. "Gravediggers, spread!"  
  
The seven remaining Orange Star fighters scrambled, some keeping in formation with one another as they cut through the air, all the while each of the pilots in fury as they watched what was left of their comrade's fighter falling towards the ground, a horrifying ball of fire at that point. Before any of them realized it, though, the enemy fighters corkscrewed right in between all of them at full throttle, an outlandishly dangerous but skillful move from each of the four Blue Moon pilots. "Good God, that was close!"  
  
"Keep your brains steady, 'diggers!" The lead pilot kicked his fighter directly onto its port side and swung around in a wide turn as the rest of the squadron tried to sort themselves out, all of them trying to get a bead on where the four Blue Moon fighters had sped to now. "Someone get a visual on those fighters!"  
  
The lead pilot shifted his view around and around for what seemed like an hour but was in actuality only a few seconds until he looked to his right, towards the sky. Two of the Blue Moon fighters blazed along right there, just above his aircraft, almost inverted to his side. "Oh, DAMN."  
  
He forced the control stick hard to its forward left direction, sending his orange-painted craft into a downward-pointed roll that would hopefully bring him around to the right eventually and send him under where the Blue Mooners were. It didn't happen. The Blue Moon fighters skillfully drifted there, keeping with him as he came around under them, so close to him he felt as though if he stupidly reached out of his cockpit with his arm, he could touch their blue hulls.  
  
His eyes flashed towards his comrades, and he spotted the other two Blue Moon fighter jets. "Gails, you've got one on your butt, Marcus, break hard to starboard and get that thing away from--"  
  
The pursued fighter was already headed towards the ground, the entire craft consumed in smoke and fire. "Gails, if you can hear me, eject NOW."  
  
No response over the radio. "Damn it all!"  
  
The lead pilot growled to himself, once again eyeing the two Blue Mooners hovering up above him like buzzards waiting for the proper moment to feast, but then he noticed that one of the blue fighter jets had a long, red line painted along on its side, and a picture of an even bluer-hued hawk was painted on the top and bottom of both its wings. "Oh no."  
  
"Lead, break hard left!"  
  
The pilot's sudden order came without warning, and it almost caught the man flying the lead fighter off-guard, but as skilled as he was, he was able to whip the Orange Star fighter jet off to port in less than half a second. As noisy as the plane was, he could hear loud gunfire trailing from behind him, and he saw bullets shred a small amount of his right wing. "Thanks, Marcus, I got hammered but not bad."  
  
"I have your wing, lead." One of the Gravediggers came up behind his leader's port wing as the Blue Mooners swung out from above the two of them, headed downwards towards their prey. "We've got those two coming down at us, lead, let's get out of here!"  
  
"I copy, stay cool, Trenton. Keep comin' with me and let's see if we can split when they least expect it." A sense of urgency flowed through the lead pilot as he struggled to turn in his seat and keep on eye on where his aircraft was headed at the same time. "Marcus, get a bead on me and Trenton, and keep on eye on those fighters behind us!"  
  
"Yes, sir. Marcus has a visual." The pilot, while keeping an eye out for the other half of the four Blue Mooners, kept a watchful gaze out his canopy on his teammates and the two aircraft pursuing them.  
  
The two chasers started to become dangerously close to the pursued. "They're coming to be level with you, move it!"  
  
"Split, wing!" The lead pilot suddenly whipped his Orange Star fighter to the right while his wing member swung out to port. The two Blue Moon fighters behind them also split up to each chase a single target, but to the lead pilot's dismay, he discovered that the special-looking Blue Mooner was pursuing him. "Radigan, see if you can't get this fellow off my tail."  
  
The pilot he called out to did not respond.  
  
"He's gone, lead," another pilot's voice told him. The lead aircraft's pilot cursed out loud hideously, and he himself started to panic somewhat. That wasn't like him. But he'd never gone up against such skilled enemy pilots before. If he could help it, though, he'd do whatever he could to take care of all four of these Blue Moon bastards and send them to where they belonged: on the dirt in a smoking scrap of plane. He shoved the control stick forward, sending his aircraft downwards, and at a dramatic rate of speed, at that, almost daring the Blue Mooner to follow him. But as he turned around in the seat, struggling, he could see that the blue aircraft dove down without hesitation right behind him. "Frickin' hell."  
  
More gunfire. He could almost see the fiery red ammunition of the Blue Moon fighter streaking past his own plane, and he forced himself to guide his control stick to the right and send the aircraft upwards once again before he ate both bullets and dust. "Marcus, are you still with me?"  
  
"Negative, lead, I've got some problems of my own here."  
  
Damn! He didn't even bother radioing anyone else, he knew they were all busy with the three other Blue Mooners giving them hell. "Anyone who has a chance, radio headquarters! Give them the situation and let them know we need backup immediately!"  
  
Nevermind the fact that everyone was too busy to bother radioing the command center, but almost as soon as he'd growled that message into the radio microphone installed inside of his black, full-faced helmet, an annoying beeping noise cut into his hearing from somewhere inside of the cockpit.  
  
"He's getting a missile lock on me!" The lead pilot violently kicked his jet into a snap roll as it pulled upwards, the fighter shooting past pieces of a destroyed Orange Star fighter falling towards the ground. He continued to pull back on the stick, the aircraft showing the sky its belly as it looped around in a full circle. He hoped such a maneuver would take the Blue Mooner off his rump. However, the leader unfortunately knew, though, that simply looping around chasing someone was child's play to a skilled pilot like the one behind him, as sad as that realization was to him at the time.  
  
As the loop started to end and the craft was heading downwards once again, the lead pilot pulled the control stick not only back but to the left as well. The Blue Mooner still hung on him as if the blue jet were tied to his similarly-lethal orange one by the most powerful rope in existence.  
  
"Come on, get off!" The missile lock warning noise was still sounding louder than ever.  
  
Then, all of a sudden, the Blue Mooner shot to to the right as the two aircraft had started to level out, the fighter breaking away from its prey hard, causing the missile lock noise to subside. A cold sweat had developed on the lead pilot under his black and orange flight suit, and he took the silence of the warning sound with pleasure, but he still wasn't out of this yet.  
  
"Your tail is clear, lead. I had a lock on him."  
  
"Thanks, Trenton." The lead pilot didn't allow himself to smile even a bit as he sent his fighter into a snap-kick onto its starboard wing, its controller hoping to get a visual and a lock on that special-looking Blue Moon fighter jet. But another, more important thing came to mind before he would do all of that. "Who's gone?"  
  
"Logan, Gails, Radigan, and Holmes, sir."  
  
The other pilot's message sent a chill down the leader's spine and put a lump in throat as well. He couldn't do this. This was unfair. Even with eight-on-four, the odds had been against them from the start, especially with that particularly-mysterious Blue Moon fighter in the midst of it all. The lead pilot's eyes narrowed as cold, unseen sweatdrops rolled down his helmeted face, and he made a difficult decision, one that he truly did not want to make. However, he wasn't about to lose any more pilots, any more friends. This battle was foolish and an outright waste of time.  
  
"Okay, Gravediggers, hightail it away from those bogeys, we're getting out of here." He could only imagine the vicious amount of disappointment in his comrade's hearts. "That's an order. Let's go!"  
  
He canceled out the right turn, turning the aircraft level, and he pushed the fighter full gait from the battle, the other Orange Star fighters sadly doing so whether they wanted to or not. The lead pilot kept an eye on the Blue Mooners as he and his pilots retreated, and he saw that they, too, were heading in the opposite direction the Orange Stars were moving in. This was not an orange victory.  
  
"Don't worry, guys. They'll get theirs," the lead pilot stated solidly, but sadness flowed through his voice. "Believe me, someday, they'll get theirs."  
  
His eyes narrowed on the Blue Moon half-squadron flying away from them as he remembered the special looking enemy fighter. "Especially him."  
  
---  
  
"There comes a certain excitement that nothing else can match when one sits in the cockpit of an Orange Star fighter jet. The most versatile, powerful, agile, and fastest aircraft in the world, the fighters have the ability to outperform even the best of opposition. Even in the face of ten Yellow Comet fighters, two, three, and, if the pilot is skilled enough, one Orange Star jet could take them all and not have a scratch on it by the end of the battle.  
  
"Now, ladies and gentlemen watching at home, we take an in-depth look at the new Orange Star fighter model. It's safe to say that the greatest aircraft ever created by man has become even greater. While it may look like the old Orange Star fighters on the outside, minute changes have been made to its inner workings, including cockpit safety for pilots. New aviation uniforms for flight have been given to all Orange Star aircraft pilots, whether they fly fighters, bombers, or even attack and transport helicopters. New helmets have also been issued, and they include their own oxygen system should the aircraft's fail, and now that--"  
  
Click. Stop patting yourselves on the back, how good a plane is still depends and always will depend on how skillfull its pilot is.  
  
"Passengers on-board a non-stop flight to Nixon today were met with a delay before take-off, when a man discovered that one of his fellow passengers was a bi-polar mime, who first jumped into the middle of the aisle, claiming he would attempt life-saving surgery with his wife as the patient, and then threatened to blow up Yellow Comet with said wife. Police subdued and arrested the man, and the flight left fifteen minutes after scheduled take-off. Speaking of which, Windy, what do you say we take a trip around the world sometime in my private plane? It has lots of nice little things, like a control stick, hint hint."  
  
"Mark, not only am I married but we're in the middle of a news repo--"  
  
Click. Save it for the commercial breaks.  
  
"-and when anti-air began firing up at the Green Earth fighters, Lieutenant Gordon found himself in the middle of it, all the while growing ready to attempt to engage enemy fighters of Blue Moon heritage. But he was taken down by anti-air and crash-landed in a Blue Moon forest. While we unable to get a word with Mr. Gordon, who is no longer with the Green Earth air force and is currently residing in Orange Star, we can give you this amazingly detailed account of his journey to get back to his home country, all thanks to this fellow we met on the street, who caught a glimpse of who he thought was Glenn Gordon for a few seconds."  
  
"Well's, I wush kinda tipzzy at de cht-- The uh, ch-- Uhh, chhhime, but I'd say's Mizter Gohdon had a purty big adventure's on izz handz, zhere. Shay, am I's gettin' paid for--"  
  
The TV shut off with a final, sound click. If only these newspeople and their inane stories would stay out of my mind, Glenn thought again, I'd be able to concentrate on other things rather than airplanes.  
  
Glenn Gordon got up out of his chair angrily and sauntered over to his apartment's window, placing his hands at the small of his back as he reached it. He hoped that maybe his mind would move away from flying and go off to some other, less important thing, but this hope soon fell dead as he noticed numerous aircraft outside, ranging from helicopters to passenger planes.  
  
His problem with seeing anything that signified aviation recalled past events in his mind which he was rather unwilling to go back to. It hadn't been very long since he'd left the Green Earth air force, and the war had ended, but he still found himself frequently thinking about sitting in that fighter jet's seat, that bare thrill he got from just sitting there, the rumbling of the fighter's engines starting up reverberating through him. Then would come take-off, and the natural thrill that came with excessive speed.  
  
But the air was the real place to be. Glenn personally couldn't finger exactly why he liked flying so much, but pinpointing the exact reason as to why he did what he did wasn't necessary. Actions spoke louder than words in such a case.  
  
His hand moved up to the window, touching it casually, and he leaned against it with a groan. He'd gotten a job with the Orange Star State High school as a teacher for the somewhat miniscule aviation class, but it just wasn't where he had hoped he'd be at this point in his life. He enjoyed showing the kids the mechanics of flying, and since most of his students agreed he was their favorite teacher, they always liked to hear about his old war stories, though Glenn was a terribly private person. Whenever he spoke of battles of old and his time in Blue Moon after he'd been shot down in action, he only told the class naked remnants of what happened, hardly ever giving them the full account, much like he did with Green Earth and Orange Star news agencies alike, who still seemed to call him once every two weeks or so. Glenn guessed they wanted to drive him to the brink of insanity or somewhere close to it so they could get their greedy taloned fingers on those old stories of his and market them or something remotely stupid like that. Gordon would have none of it.  
  
He watched the aircraft outside, running a hand through his dark hair. He was only twenty-six years of age. All of his own teachers had been, what, over fifty? Ms. Argyeho, the type of battleaxe kids had nightmares about, had been up towards her eighties. That woman, if he could have put it that way, had been one reason why Gordon had always considered coming into teaching to show kids and teens that not all teachers were spawned from nuclear waste dumps, but he had never imagined himself with such a job at this young age. This wasn't where he wanted to be, and it was starting to grow on his mind like moss.  
  
The phone rang. Glenn's phone had an especially annoying ring, but his mother had forced him to get one like that when he'd moved away from Green Earth. The guy never liked answering phones, and she knew if it rang long enough, it would shoot his nerves through the roof and he'd answer, however displeased he may end up being afterwards.  
  
"What in thunderation now?" he said aloud, stepping over to the blamed thing and looking at the caller ID, which he still didn't understand how to completely use. KHX 9 NEWS read on the little green-hued screen, and without a second's hesitation he pulled the phone's plug out of the wall.  
  
He couldn't take this anymore. This was getting positively ridiculous.  
  
His eyes flashed towards the clock on the wall, perhaps out of habit since he was typically as late to school as his students were -- And it was ten minutes to eight. "Aw, crap."  
  
It was nighttime when he finally came home. And he felt positively horrid.  
  
Today had proved to be a terrible day. As soon as he had walked in the classroom door, a barrage of questions had been thrown his way, from what color the sky was when viewed from an airplane - "blue, Dave," - to how old Gordon was - "twenty-six, Christine." But the day had only gotten worse as it progressed. In the day's final class, a huge discussion had ended up presenting itself.  
  
"Excuse me, Mr. Gordon."  
  
Gordon had looked up from his overly-messy desk at the student quizzically. "Hm?"  
  
"Can I ask you a few questions for the school paper about your days in the Air F--"  
  
"Not a prayer," Glenn had interrupted, quickly looking back down to whatever he was chicken scratching at on the desk. Perhaps it hadn't been the most polite response, but Glenn had made it perfectly clear to all his classes that they were not to intrude on his personal life. He hadn't ever come right out and banned them from doing so, but that was the general idea among the students. This time, unfortunately, the ambiguous rules didn't stick solidly.  
  
"Why not?" another student had piped.  
  
"Because," was the blunt answer, obviously an answer that hoped to shut the door on any further questions. It didn't work.  
  
"Why don't you ever tell us what happened to you?"  
  
"What happened after you left the Air Force? Why'd you leave in the first place?"  
  
Glenn had looked up from his desk agitatedly, getting the realization that this wasn't going to end pretty. "Because it's my business and my business only."  
  
"What, did you get kicked out or something?"  
  
"No," Gordon had growled, "I did NOT get kicked out."  
  
At that moment, most of the students had seen the anger rising in their aviation teacher and knew well to put a cork in it, but a few continued the mild bickering. It was about to get worse.  
  
"I'll bet you just quit because you got too scared," one of Gordon's less bright students had uttered.  
  
Glenn had risen from his seat, but he successfully restrained the urge to shove a stapler down the kid's throat. Some of the students' eyes had widened considerably, most of them quite ready and willing to see their teacher kick some loudmouth's butt. Glenn had calmed himself down, speaking quietly. "No. No, that wasn't it at all."  
  
"Then why don't you tell us?" one of the girls ended up chiming in, hoping to finally hear this story none of them had ever heard before. Gordon didn't quite look readily willing to open himself up like this. He didn't remember a time when he had been in school so many years before where the students made a remote connection with their teacher such as this.  
  
There had been a long pause from the former pilot. He'd felt his cheeks start to burn in embarrassment, what with all the students gaping at him like they were doing. Finally, he'd turned his back to them and walked straight towards his desk. "No. Get back to your tests."  
  
"Yeah, you're scared."  
  
"Yeah, that's got to be it," another student had agreed, not telling the truth but just hoping for a good story, unlike the loudmouthed kid. Gordon had been able to hear the students whispering to one another as he stood there, rubbing the back of his neck while his face turned a rather red color, his feelings a mixture of anger and embarrassment.  
  
Suddenly, he had whirled around and glared at all of them. "You listen, and you listen well. You're not in this class to learn about me, you're in it to learn about you and what you want to do with your life. I'm nothing but a tutor to push you along towards your goals, should they relate to flight, and I'm also here to show you that flying's about more than just cool airplanes. It's about alot more than that. As far as I'm concerned, if you've decided you want to take the skills you learn here to college and have a degree in Glenn Gordon instead of aviation, then your aviation lesson for today is to walk your butts outside and spread your arms out and make bumblebee noises with your lips, because you're not going to find out a single thing about me. My life's none of your damn business. I've already had my shot, now it's time for yours. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
They had quieted and stared at him, some of them surprised at his coldness, his harshness. Glenn had just turned back around and sat back down at the desk, even more irritated now than before.  
  
It had been fairly quiet for the rest of the session until the bell rang. Most of the students had left without even giving him a glance, but a few looked on at him, disappointment looming in their young faces.  
  
The killer shot to Gordon was when one student came up and smirked at him. "Learned one thing about you, I did. You're afraid of facing whatever's happened to you."  
  
Then he'd left, leaving Glenn to seeth and pout.  
  
What was the matter with him? He hadn't handled that well at all. Oh well, he thought, best not to think about it, lest it give him a bigger headache than the one he already had.  
  
He slumped down into the chair in his apartment's living room and switched on the television.  
  
"Yep, I dun seen one of them unidentified flying object things, it flew right over my house and made this big thunderin' noise. It was big, and uh, big, too. Lemme think here a minute."  
  
A picture of an Orange Star jet appeared on the television screen.  
  
"When Mr. Dinglehopper finally remembered the image of the flying saucer and told our reporters exactly what the craft looked like, our expert artists were able to render this amazing piece of work from the man's description, now showing the world just what the saucer looked like. While the Orange Star government refuses to acknowledge these strange sightings of mysterious craft that look exactly like this flying overhead more times than we can ever hope to count, Mr. Dinglehopper believes it's all a very large conspirac--"  
  
Glenn angrily turned the television off, knowing that if he just changed the channel more aircraft would appear before his eyes. Everywhere he looked, everywhere he went, there was an aircraft. There was aviation. There was the sky.  
  
I can't take this crap anymore, he thought to himself, leaning back in the chair, wondering if such a strange thing to be worried about like aviation would drive him insane in the end. His eyes moved towards the cieling of the small apartment casually, quickly growing tired, and they closed lightly. Maybe he'd take a nap in this chair for the heck of it, considering how awful the day had been. Then again, he'd probably end up sleeping all night, and it would be daytime before he wanted it to be, and he'd have to go right back to that stupid school and those kids with their inane questions. Yeah, staying up was a better idea. He didn't even really want to face the kids anyway, what with the way he acted and all.  
  
Re-enlist.  
  
His eyes shot open. The message had come suddenly, without warning. And he was the only one there. It had flashed through his mind like a bolt of lightning, but it was so amazingly loud, almost in front of his eyes that for a moment, his whole body shouted the word.  
  
No way. Not in a million years, part of his brain argued.  
  
Come on, you know you want to, the other half spouted.  
  
Well, kind of, the more sensible half uttered, quickly trying to come out with something good.  
  
The rambunctious half moved in for the kill. Then you DO want to. That's that, then.  
  
No, the first half said, what about my job?  
  
What ABOUT your job?  
  
I can't just stop going, I've got work to do and I'd have to find a substitute or something, the first part of his brain continued.  
  
So what? Just tell that fat old boss of yours that you quit, he'll understand. The latter half of Glenn's brain continued to push onward, going full steam and not backing down in the slightest. It quickly overwhelmed the less-argumentive side, and soon, Glenn could no longer think of a good reason as to why he shouldn't re-enlist.  
  
"Oh man," he said aloud while holding his forehead, "I hope I know what I'm doing."  
  
---  
  
Mission Two - coming soon. 


	2. Enlistment

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Two: Enlistment~  
  
~----~  
  
The military recruitment office. Glenn could still recall the last time he'd been here, only at the one stationed in Green Earth. Orange Star's recruitment office building was considerably larger than the one he'd seen before, as it rose fifteen stories high. Not only that, but the place seemed even more massive inside. He couldn't help but feel somewhat dwarfed as he gawked around like a tourist, gazing at the sheer magnitude of this situation. There were a few Orange Star soldiers and guards about, busy-bodying random rubberneckers around to make sure they kept moving to wherever their destination was.  
  
It took him a full forty-five minutes to find where the Air Force recruitment offices were. By the time he reached them, he figured he must have been all over the building and another, from the first to fifteenth floors. Finally, he'd just walked into what he'd thought were the restrooms of the floor he was on - he could remember a time where he'd had such a thing happen before - and there he was.  
  
It's about time, he thought to himself as he scanned the room. Strangely, unlike the other floors, the Air Force recruitment offices didn't seem so crowded. Glenn found that somewhat peculiar, but thought something of it as he anxiously stepped up to one of the desks towards the entrance doors.  
  
"I'd like to join the Air Force," Glenn Gordon stated frankly to the clerk.  
  
"Then," the busy-with-a-book clerk said while pointing to another desk, "you want that one over there."  
  
Glenn paused for a moment, and headed over to the other desk, where a large, jiggly man sat in a chair that seemed to be seriously strained under the weight being put on it.  
  
"I'd like to join the Air Force," he said once again in the exact same tone and manner. The viciously overweight clerk hesitated, eyed Glenn, then pointed to the desk he'd come from with his pencil.  
  
"You want that--"  
  
"No, I don't," Glenn grumbled, quickly stopping this chicken race before it got to the point of being foolish, "she told me to come to you, and I'm not going to go ping-ponging around here for thirty minutes."  
  
"Alright, alright!" The clerk irritatedly fumbled away whatever he was fiddling with at the moment and took out a few sheets of paper. Presumably enlistment forms, Glenn figured, as he'd gone through something similar when he had joined the Green Earth Air Force. The clerk handed the forms and his pencil to Gordon. "Just fill these out and get them back to me whenever you're done."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Since there wasn't a whole lot to cover on the enlistment forms, Glenn just wrote them out there at the desk. While he scribbled on them with the midget-quality pencil the clerk had let him borrow, he couldn't help but wonder to himself if he was doing the right thing. He hadn't thought much about it since last night when he'd made his decision. And even still, he was supposed to be at the school right now. He most certainly had called first to let them know he wouldn't be coming in, but perhaps it was the responsibility portion of his job that was weighing on him, telling him to leave this office building and get back to what he was supposed to be doing.  
  
Then he shrugged all that off. He had to concentrate on what he was doing now, and what he'd be happy doing. The passed was past, after all.  
  
The heavy, uniformed clerk paused somewhat excessively, eyeing Glenn, who was still busy doodling with the enlistment sheets. "Ain't you that pilot I saw on that War Stories show? Yeah, they showed your picture."  
  
Glenn took a moment of silence as well before answering. "Depends."  
  
The clerk leaned over the counter, examining the name on the enlistment form, and he smiled widely. "Yep, you're him."  
  
Glenn didn't quite know how to react to this, as he wasn't used to nor did he necessarily care for being a public icon. He decided to just not answer. The clerk continued to sit there, still eyeing Gordon until he started to fidget under the fat man's gaze.  
  
There came a part in the enlistment form where he was asked what aircraft he would like to pilot, if he recieved such a position. There were first choice and second choice options. Naturally, Gordon's penciled hand quickly moved towards the role of Orange Star fighter pilot.  
  
But he stopped himself, examining the other positions. Did he really want to fly a fighter jet again?  
  
There was also bomber, attack helicopter, and transport helicopter pilot positions for first and second choices. Maybe he'd be better off not behind the yoke of a fighter again. He could still be in the air in a transport helicopter, and that was nice and safe, for the most part. If he came under attack, he'd be allowed to split as soon as the action got started. But his eyes continually moved towards the checkmark area next to "fighter pilot".  
  
He'd leave this one up to fate. "What's the current tally on Orange Star fighter pilots?"  
  
The clerk shrugged his heavy shoulders, his fat face jiggling a bit, reminding Glenn very much of jello. "Not good. People are joinin' the army 'cause it's more traditional, and more people are heading into the navy because they think they can see the sights, or whatever. Right now, good pilots are tough to come by since alot of them retired after the war, and most of our enlistees want to be flying those damn transport choppers because they just want to be in the air and think it's safe. Basically, we'll be in a crisis if we don't get alot more pilots enlisting soon somehow, what with these border attacks and all. And even then, we're gonna have to train them."  
  
That had not totally been the answer Glenn had hoped for. But did he have a specific hope in mind? No, he decided, he didn't. Fate had rolled the dice, so it seemed. "Alright."  
  
With the small pencil in his hand, he checkmarked the area next to "fighter pilot."  
  
As for his second choice, Glenn simply considered leaving it blank. He'd be betraying the fate that had answered his call if he didn't, or so he felt. Finally, he scratched his name in on the line at the very bottom of the last enlistment sheet, proving to himself that he was going to go through with this. "Okay, I think I'm finished. What do I do--"  
  
"Give 'em to me," the clerk mumbled, grabbing for the papers before he'd even finished his own sentence. Glenn figured that would be it for the day, but then, the overweight clerk handed him a sheet of paper that had just finished printing out, causing him to blink in confusion.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"Your orders."  
  
His orders! He'd already been given orders. That had been awful fast. He couldn't help but smile, quickly liking the way the Orange Stars got to the point with everything -- And how they got to the point with everything quickly. His eyes surveyed the order sheet. Apparently, if he was able to decipher everything on it correctly, he figured the orders told him to report to the Washington Air Force Base the next day. Luckily, he knew where the base was, as Glenn had ended up keeping fairly up to date on where all the Orange Star bases were, thanks to all those dumb news programs and shows that he was never able to avoid.  
  
The clerk waved him goodbye. "Adios."  
  
Glenn paused again, and waved similarly as he walked out.  
  
Geez, he thought to himself as he walked through the mazes of the giant office building, these guys must be pretty desperate for pilots.  
  
The Washington Air Base, as Glenn had heard, was luckily not very far from where he lived. Some good pilots had come out of Orange Star when stationed at it, or that was the rumor, at least. Not only that, but Glenn had noticed that it was edgily stationed fairly close to the border that kept Orange Star and Blue Moon apart. The base must have been experiencing a shortage of pilots, thanks to those border skirmishes, attacks, whatever they could have been classified as, as Glenn figured. He didn't think too much of it, though, he just wanted back into a pilot's seat.  
  
And in the pilot's seat, he would soon be, or at least he hoped so. Upon arriving at the air base the next day, he hadn't seen any airplanes of any sort from the entrance. Maybe that was the way they wanted things. Nevertheless, it sent an ambiguous fear through Gordon. Perhaps he wouldn't get to fly a plane after all by some outlandish mishap in orders, or maybe there weren't any air planes at the base at all. It was certainly a fear that he shouldn't have felt, as he knew that if the air base didn't have any planes it couldn't exactly be called an air base. Even still, though, the fear kept on all the way towards what would be his new home.  
  
But when he went past the security checkpoint, the true entrance to the air base, he smiled. There they were. Or one of them, in any case. He could see the Orange Star fighter jet blasting down the airstrip, its afterburners at full power, and it rose up off the concrete, almost floating up from the ground though at well over one-hundred-fifty miles an hour, taking off into the sky. He couldn't help but feel envy towards whoever may have been sitting in that jet's cockpit.  
  
The fears subsided. He'd be flying one of those beautiful things after all.  
  
He stopped his car to sit there on the road and watch more of the fighters taking off.  
  
It wasn't until only a few minutes later that a Washington Air Base security guard stepped up and rapped on the window loudly, catching Gordon's attention immediately. The startled enlistee jerked his head to the side, surprised, and he rolled down the window a bit.  
  
"Keep it moving, sir," the guard told him. Glenn nodded, a little saddened that he had to stop watching the fascinating show before him, but sadness turned into excitement as he remembered that he was to be a part of that show very soon. He started the car up again and continued onward.  
  
Only a few moments afterwards, he was finally inside of the air base command center. The air of the place smelled familiar -- Glenn couldn't place his nose on exactly why he knew the fuel-like scent of air bases. It reminded him of whenever he went into a dentist office. All of them smelled the same, and he realized it was the same way for air bases. It wasn't a necessarily foul scent, but it made Glenn blink in confusion and puzzlement as he attempted to get a bead on what it accurately was.  
  
Thankfully, it didn't take him an unmanagable amount of time to get to the point with everything that was required before he got into the cockpit of a plane. He showed the first uniformed man he saw his orders, and they pointed him over in the direction of where he'd recieve his true commands. It seemed, from what a few of the uniformed folks told him, that he'd have to first be introduced to his fellow squadron pilots, and recieve even more orders from his commander.  
  
Well, he thought to himself, the commander here can't be much worse than Clay Shamrock, bless his soul. Glenn could still remember old Shamrock and those vile orders of his. He didn't even want to remember some of those missions the man had thrown at him, but even still, the mere thought of Shamrock made Glenn feel a little uneasy, and a little depressed on the spot.  
  
Those feelings went away when he was introduced to the man who would be his commander. And new feelings of disappointment quickly arose, to Glenn's dismay.  
  
Even from just looking at him, Gordon could tell that George Beauregard was going to be a tough nut to nail. Not only that, but the wall-eyed stare that Beauregard gave him made him feel somewhat jittery and upset. Glenn already knew that making friends wasn't Beauregard's top priority in the three seconds he'd known him.  
  
Glenn knew saying hello and holding out his hand to the Commander would get him a nasty comeback, and probably a bad reputation for longer than he wanted. Instead, he did the smart thing, and saluted Beauregard upon stepping up next to him and whoever the high-ranking official was conversing with. "Sir."  
  
"Gordon," Beauregard uttered, his attention still more on the person he was talking to than the new pilot who'd warily stepped up to greet him. Gordon hesitated and placed his hands at the small of his back, trying to be as polite as he could and wait out the conversation without losing patience. It didn't quite go as planned, and Beauregard continued mumbling to his friend about things that may as well have been in a foreign language to Glenn. He resisted the powerful urge to roll his eyes in impatience more than once, but finally, the Commander seemed to finish the back-and-forth babbling, and he finally turned his attention towards Gordon. "So, you're Glenn Gordon."  
  
Glenn nodded slightly, giving the same response he gave everyone who addressed him by name. "That's me."  
  
"I've heard alot about you."  
  
Once again, Glenn resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
"You're the fellow who was shot down over Blue Moon and was lost for a while," Beauregard continued, saying all this as if Glenn didn't know any of it himself, "and you got back okay, but not without some tragedy when you got back. That's some tough luck, pilot. Don't worry, we'll take care of you here pretty well."  
  
Glenn wondered if that comment was supposed imply that the Orange Stars did their business better than the Green Earthers, but he figured the Commander didn't mean anything hurtful by it. "I certainly hope so, sir. The last thing I want is to make my destination the ground again when it's not supposed to be. I suppose this could be looked at as my thanks, since the Orange Stars helped me out when I was stranded in one of Blue Moon's neutral cities for a while."  
  
"Yes," Beauregard said, though still showing no hint of a smile whatsoever on his crackly face. "Colonel Baxter filled Orange Star Headquarters in on your dilemma, and that he'd found you. I remember alot of us being pretty happy when that happened. There aren't many pilots like you, Gordon, in the fact that when one of you goes down, you're likely to not get back up again, ever."  
  
The rememberance of Colonel Baxter had filled Glenn's mind while Beauregard spoke, and he'd restrained his bodily actions again, this time to shudder in disgust. Just the thought of the dirty schmuck made Glenn feel dirty himself. Not even a bath in disinfectant could remedy such a feeling.  
  
"Well, I would have ejected, but Green Earth and Yellow Comet fighters don't come with ejection mechanisms. You'd think that with a Commanding Officer like Eagle, they'd have such an option put into their most precious equipment. As for Kanbei, well, his army may be tough, but there are some design flaws you just can't overcome."  
  
Beauregard seemed to stifle a laugh at the mere thought of Yellow Comet's fighters. Glenn had to admit, it was a fairly humerous absurdity. Somehow, even though all of Yellow Comet's military equipment was somewhat aged compared to every other country's, they could still keep up in terms of combat specialty.  
  
"Oh well," Beauregard said, the crackle of a smile that had shown during the stifle of his laugh subsiding quickly, "I'd better tell you right now about your squadron, Gordon. There are a couple based here, so don't get confused about which one you're in. Orders from the Capitol say you're to fly with the 207th, also known as Thunderbolt Squadron. I suppose you could go and meet your new wing-mates right now, but you'll be sharing a section of the base in the barracks with them, and you'll be rooming with one of them, so it's up to you when you want to meet them."  
  
His new wing-mates. Glenn knew no one could ever take the place of his old comrades, especially Dario Yossarian, as annoying and troubling he may have been while he was still alive. However, something told him to push forward, and this something also made him a little excited to meet his new comrades, his new friends. At least, he hoped they'd end up being friends. Gordon wasn't in this to make rivals out of comrades, or worse, enemies. He looked off down a few corridors in the building he was in, pondering exactly where he'd find them all. "I'd like to meet them now, I suppose. It would probably be better now to do so than later. Where are they at?"  
  
Beauregard nodded in the direction of a hallway. "You'll probably find them in the cafeteria. It's down there, take a left, and its the second door on the right. You'll find it pretty easily."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Glenn thankfully remembered to stay proper and gracious in front of his commanding officer before he went yokelling down some hallway without showing the man some respect, well-deserved respect at that. Beauregard finally seemed to crack a smile, a more noticable one than before, and saluted Glenn. The pilot returned the salute. At least he'd made some slight conversation with his new commanding officer and had made a good impression.  
  
"Dismissed."  
  
Glenn nodded one final time and started to take off down the hallway, but he suddenly remembered something more important than becoming friends with people he'd never met before. "Hey, uh. Excuse me, sir, but, when do I get to fly a plane again?"  
  
George Beauregard's expression told Glenn the answer probably wouldn't be one he liked. "Not today. Probably not tomorrow either, since we're still getting your fighter ready, and also some forms filled out because of its transition to the 207th. Not only that, but you'll have to go through a little bit of simulation training first, but with your experience, I don't think you'll require much assistance from the simulators. Green Earth fighters and Orange Star fighters are more similar than you probably know."  
  
Hesitation came from Glenn as he rubbed the back of his neck disappointedly. He'd been hoping to get in the air as soon as possible, even if that meant immediately, but luckily, he was a little more patient than he thought he was. He could wait until the next day, or however long it took, as unstabling as that may have been. "Alright, thank you again, sir."  
  
Beauregard just nodded and walked away down an anonymous hallway opposite to the one the pilot was destined for. Without waiting around moronically to see if there was anything else his commander wanted to jaw about, Gordon decided now was the best time to split and meet his new wing-mates.  
  
He took off, towards where he presumed the cafeteria was. Since Glenn had the tendency to get lost unavoidably easily in even the smallest of buildings, he made sure to follow Beauregard's directions exactly and to the brim. Sadly, what should have been a thirty-second walk ended up being a ten-minute journey.  
  
Finally, he grumbled to himself as he looked at the door with CAFETERIA plastered on its glass window. He hoped lunch wasn't over for his new comrades.  
  
It came as somewhat of a surprise to Glenn when he found the cafeteria was near-empty. Being a fairly spacious room, and considering it was lunchtime, it struck him as odd that there were only seven other people in the entire place. However, Glenn found the lack of people somewhat satisfying, and he welcomed it, as he didn't want to go searching around a huge flock of Washington Air Base pilots while trying to find people he'd never met before. That would be like trying to find a needle in two haystacks, and a wild goose chase was the last thing Gordon wanted at the moment. He was anxious to get up in the air, although reality continued to prod him with a stick that constantly reminded him he wouldn't be heading up into the sky until at least the next day.  
  
Glenn stepped over to the table the seven uniformed people were eating at, but he found himself growing more intimidated with every step. It made him recall his school days, when he'd been forced to make new friends. Those had been uneasy moments, but this was worse. The stakes here were miles high. These were people he would be risking his life with, and even entrusting his life to at times, if such times came upon him.  
  
"Excuse me," he mumbled less-than-confidently while trying his best to meet all their gazes at the same time, "are you guys in Thunderbolt Squadron?"  
  
"Guys?" one of the two girls piped.  
  
Glenn nervously cleared his throat, quickly trying to figure out why such a situation as this one was fluttering him so badly. "Guys and girls, I should say, sorry--"  
  
"Sit down," the same girl said, a smile unfolding onto her young face. This came as somewhat of a surprise to Glenn, and he made himself sit down, though not without an inner struggle. Perhaps it was the nervousness, or the magnitude of the moment, but he thought it best not to pay much attention to these feelings. He'd have to do his best to fit in. Heck, he could fit in pretty easily, if he tried, or so he figured. But he couldn't help but wonder why they were already looking away from him and eating.  
  
One of the boys looked up from his meal at Glenn. "Aren't you gonna get something to eat to?"  
  
There was, quite frankly, no chance of Glenn eating for the rest of the day. He was too edgy from meeting his comrades, and too anxious to get into a fighter jet again. "I don't think so, I just sort of came down here to meet you all, since I'll be flying with you now."  
  
"That makes eight of us," the other of the two girls sitting at the table said with a mouthful, trying not to chuckle. Gordon blinked in confusion. What was she talking about?  
  
Another of the men explained. "We're all new members of the 207th, too. It's a new flight squadron, apparently, from what that old Beuregard guy told us. Looks like Washington wants to start from scratch with us. Not a bad idea, I be thinkin'. We'll burn up the skies, won't we, Cass?"  
  
One of the girls nodded while rolling her eyes towards her rather arrogant wingmate.  
  
So that was it. All seven of these people were newbies, too. Glenn realized he had nothing to be afraid or nervous of. These folks were in the exact same situation he was in. Somehow, this made him feel a little more comfortable with the situation, and smiling, he outstretched his hand to the one who had ended up filling him in on the scenario. "I'm Glenn Gordon."  
  
The fellow took Glenn's hand and shook it vividly. "The name's Tuxedo Ral."  
  
Gordon paused.  
  
"Tuxedo Ral?" he uttered, realizing he almost insulted the man with the way he said the rather abnormal name. In all honesty, Glenn had been expecting an average name, but one that he would remember. He was right, apparently, as strange a name as it was.  
  
Tuxedo stared at him with a smirk, or a grin, Glenn couldn't decipher it. However, it reminded him very much of the cocky, hyena-quality smirk Dario Yossarian had always had on his face, and just that expression made Glenn realize he would probably end up becoming friends with Tuxedo faster than any of them. "Yep, yep. It's not a nickname, actually. I think when my parents met, a tux had somethin' to do with it. Or maybe they just liked penguins. Either way, that's my name, and it's nice to meet you, Mr. Glenn Gordon."  
  
Glenn couldn't help but grin too. "Sounds fair."  
  
Tuxedo jerked his head next to the blonde girl sitting next to him. "This here's Rainey Banker, and that other chic over yonder inhaling the meatball- and-nacho sub is Cassie Somethingorother, and old ugly here is Bubba Boggs, and--"  
  
"I, uh, can introduce myself pretty well," another of the boys stated, holding up a hand towards Tux to make him shut his excessively large trap. The fellow took Glenn's hand and shook it, though not as rapidly as the first introductee had done. "My name is Marcus Madison. I was transferred over here from Gravedigger Squadron since we sort of ended up getting pummeled in the border skirmishes. I guess they want to start from scratch with them, too. I'm finding it pretty nice here, so far, even though I only got here today."  
  
"He doesn't give a damn--" Tux started in, speaking for Glenn before the man could utter a single word.  
  
"Well, he would if you'd let us introduce ourselves without branding us for fools," the big man seated next to Marcus blathered while trying to gulp down a soda. It didn't come out exactly the way he hoped it would, since talking and soda didn't mix.  
  
Glenn hesitated while the big guy and Tuxedo exchanged verbal blows back and forth, and he outstretched his hand to the man he was currently seated next to. "I didn't catch your name."  
  
Tuxedo cut off his attacks and started to say That's Because He Didn't Throw It, but the rest of the table shot him a stingy glare that read Don't Even Think About It.  
  
The man Glenn spoke to didn't really respond. He just smiled and nodded while eating some sort of food Glenn had never seen or heard of before. Whatever it was, it didn't look terribly appetizing.  
  
"He's Achmed Somethingsomething," Tux stated.  
  
"Yahasatitapen," the man finished for the loudmouth.  
  
"Yeah, that."  
  
Glenn paused, covering his confusion. "I can't really seem to place that name and a country together. Where's he from?"  
  
"I dunno," the big man known as Bubba muttered, shrugging. "He doesn't speak a whole lot of our language, just a couple of flight commands and stuff."  
  
"Sounds good to me," Glenn said while smiling as he patted Achmed on the back, "quiet people make good friends. They're agreeable, ask no questions, and pass no criticisms."  
  
Achmed smiled politely and nodded again, despite the fact he probably didn't understand a word Gordon had said.  
  
Gordon still hadn't heard the name of one Thunderbolt. He looked towards the man and hesitated before speaking. "What's your name?"  
  
The man didn't bother answering him.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
The man glared at him.  
  
Oh great, Glenn thought. He'd discovered the obvious hot-head of the group. And he'd been so close to getting away with making friends with all of them, too. He'd been in such a situation before, though. When he'd first entered the Green Earth Air Force, there had been dozens of these guys. He knew to not let them get on his case, but seemed each of them was different, different in the littlest ways that made dealing with them that much more difficult.  
  
"What's your name?" Glenn asked again, ready to give up and not bother with this one. People who didn't want to be team-mates shouldn't have been part of a team.  
  
"Knives," the man answered.  
  
Gordon forced himself to throw a laugh away. That was an even stranger - if not worse name than Tuxedo!  
  
"Knives? Where in Yellow Comet did you get a name like that?"  
  
"It's a nickname."  
  
"I can tell," Glenn said, still trying to get such a goofy grin off his face. "I've never heard a name like that one before. Man, that's, uh, interesting."  
  
There was a stare from Knives, and Glenn realized that what he had just said could have destroyed any respect socialization may have gotten him. He cleared his throat, shutting up, and wisely turned his attention away from the fellow with the overly-peculiar nickname as he thought up something better to speak of. "Speaking of which, which one of us is going to be head of the squadron? I mean, when we're in the sky. Who's the lead?"  
  
Tuxedo smiled. "He is," he uttered, jerking his head to Knives.  
  
----------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry if you found it boring, as it was simply meant to introduce the 207th pilots a little. Things will get a little more exciting in future chapters, though, so if you're a mindless action fan, have no fear. Also, feel free to R&R, and leave questions or comments. They're much appreciated.  
  
Dr. Bross - The opening dogfight was means to introduce the Blue Moon pilot Gordon will end up having his rather destructive rivalry with. It also showed just how dangerous the pilot and his squadron is to Orange Star. As for why he's afraid of his past, Glenn is somewhat haunted by the events in Part I of the Fighters, and it may yet prove to get in the way of his work as he tries to rekindle whatever flying spirit he has left. So, there's your answer. Sorry if that's kind of a disappointment. 


	3. Rain & Thunder

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Three: Rain & Thunder~  
  
~----~  
  
The sight of a distinguished man like Captain Kailaff Boldigh almost sent a jealous chill down Colonel Riskaa's already-frostbitten spine. Riskaa preferred to stay away from the front lines of battle, and while they were thankfully not at war - yet, he still liked it best to keep himself as distanced as possible from the border between Orange Star and his native country of Blue Moon, what with all these border skirmishes that continued relentlessly at least once every week or two.  
  
Riskaa was unconciously surprised with the state of the situation. Neither Orange Star or Blue Moon seemed to care excessively for the border attacks, though they certainly made a substantial amount of news. It had been like that for as long as he could remember -- Which dated back to the end of the war. Even with losses on both sides, it seemed as though both sides were reluctant to get into another conflict. Apparently, the gist of the whole scene was to simply let the sides continue on until one got tired of the fighting and gave up. Somehow, Riskaa couldn't see an end in sight.  
  
But recently, the border attacks from Blue Moon had been stepped up slightly, mostly in the northern region of Orange Star, despite a small No Fly Zone situated up there. Despite the Zone, it was blindingly obvious to a bat that the Blue Mooners wanted the area for valuable resources. Sadly, Riskaa had deduced for that to be the only reason in the step-up of the attacks. Why didn't Blue Moon just buy the property for themselves?  
  
Well, he reasoned with himself, once they get the money from those resources, they can. As silly logic as it was, it worked, and Riskaa's Commanding Officer, Olaf, wasn't one to keep a good bead on what logic was in reality illogical and what logic wasn't. Riskaa inaudibly wondered why he couldn't be working under Commanding Officer Grit instead. At least Grit cared about other human beings.  
  
Kailaff Boldigh slipped off his Blue Moon officer cap silently as Riskaa gazed out his office's window, out into the horizon which was mostly obscured by the heavy rainfall that had set itself directly over the Blue Moon Headquarter Command Base they were stationed at. Boldigh remained completely closemouthed as the Colonel continously made his way back to his messy desk, then right back to the window, and trailed once again to the desk. There were so many things on his mind, Riskaa couldn't even stand in one given place for a few seconds.  
  
Finally, he stopped, placing one hand on the desk's side to steady himself, and he turned to Boldigh. "Can you even begin to fathom just how rattled I'm becoming by this foolish border lock?"  
  
Boldigh said not a word.  
  
"I've even been issued," the Colonel continued somewhat agitatedly due to the situation, "the responsibility of overseeing all Blue Moon progress in terms of air forces. In other words, I have the pleasure of looking over casualties, strategy, and even production and maintenance costs. How the devil am I supposed to accomplish such a task?"  
  
The silent man standing before Riskaa's expression did not change as his huffy commander spoke. This put Riskaa's normally obedient, commanding demeanor off somewhat, but he didn't let the character of an allied predator such as Captain Boldigh get to him. At least, he didn't try to. Boldigh still stood there like a block of ice.  
  
"Not only this," the higher ranking officer grumbled, "but at the current moment, do you know exactly how much of this progress we're making?"  
  
Boldigh blinked. The first bodily action of his in almost forty-five seconds.  
  
"None whatsoever!" Riskaa yelled angrily.  
  
The Blue Moon officer looked at the ground, still as reserved as he'd been since he'd first entered Riskaa's office, still preferring to listen rather than take any other option. Riskaa unwillingly allowed Boldigh to continue the silent treatment, as in all honesty he did not think it wise to criticize such a man of distinguished valor in the honorable name of the Blue Moon Air Service.  
  
"And to top it all off, look at this." Riskaa rolled out a map of the known world already placed on his desk and jabbed his finger on a northern section of Orange Star, close to the border. There was a small X where he pointed, with the word WASHINGTON A.B. directly under the lone letter. "Blue Moon intelligence stationed in the Orange Star Capitol recently, very recently discovered information that told of more fighter and bomber squadrons popping up all around the border, but with the most springing up at this very base. Washington."  
  
Boldigh's cloudy eyes centered on the location of the Washington Air Base. Riskaa read confusing things in the man's eyes that he couldn't decipher, but Boldigh was a fellow who was beyond the Colonel's understanding already. Besides, the distinguished Blue Mooner's expression didn't flinch in the least from what it already was - nothing. Expressionless, stoney, frozen.  
  
"Considering this base is less than five bloody miles from the main resource location Olaf wants so badly, I'd think it to be a very bad decision on our part if we were to launch an invasion of this territory with those blasted squadrons stationed there at the same time." Riskaa's voice still carried a rather angered tone. "With those fighters and bombers there, it is very difficult for an aeriel strike on even minor locations, and it's also very difficult for the entire country to even begin to ponder any sort of assault on that area or the entire border line, period!"  
  
Then, Riskaa seemed to calm slightly as he gave Boldigh a glacial stare. "And that's where you and your squadron come in."  
  
Boldigh's eyes moved back up to the Colonel.  
  
"Your unit is being sent slightly north, so we can have a better chance against the Orange Stars should they for some reason decide to launch an air strike against the forces on our side of the fence. You are also to do anything in your power to cripple the Washington Air Base to the best of your abilities. You are to remain stationed at Putin Air Base until orders from the Capitol tell you otherwise." Colonel Riskaa stepped away from the desk and moved closer to Boldigh. "In other words, I am leaving that blasted base in your hands. You're a distinguished officer. I trust you'll know how to handle the situation properly."  
  
Iceboxed, Boldigh seemed to acknowledge this information without antagonism, sending a hint of relief through Riskaa. He had enough to worry about anyway. Even his voice was growing uneven, and was not without a frequent, occasional patch of crackling now. The cold, wolven attitude of Captain Boldigh was throwing him off balance, and, suffice to say, beginning to make him feel threatened in the slightest of ways. Scared.  
  
Riskaa cleared his thoughts - and his throat - and centered his gaze on Boldigh once again, trying to prove himself to be braver than he seemed in front of the man. "If you don't mind my asking, Captain, what steps are you intending to take towards this situation once you reach Putin?"  
  
Boldigh stared dead center into Riskaa's eyes for a moment, sending another chill through the man, only this time through his entire body, beginning at his eyes and icily electrifying him all the way to his toes. Then the Captain looked out the window into the rain, more unintelligable thoughts showing through his dark, clouded eyes.  
  
Without warning, though, Boldigh turned his head and looked directly at Riskaa.  
  
"I will take them by their hearts."  
  
----------  
  
It had been three days since Glenn had enlisted with the Orange Star Air Force. And he was closing in on insanity.  
  
He had not come within any sight at all of getting into the cockpit of a fighter. There was nothing but simulation training, so far, and while the training seemed to be a slight antidote for his need for speed, his need for the air, it just wasn't the same in the winged eyes of Glenn Gordon. Every time he asked Commander Beauregard about when he'd finally be getting himself tossed into a jet already, Beauregard just looked at him funny and shrugged ever so slightly. He'd asked the Commander more than ten times ever since he'd arrived at the base, and he always recieved the same aggravating response.  
  
And to add insult to injury, in Glenn's point of view, he'd been paired up with Tuxedo Ral to share a room with. Gordon didn't necessarily not like Tux, but the guy was so similar to Dario Yossarian in ways Glenn didn't even want to begin to focus on. Tuxedo was, essentially, a party animal, especially when it was supposed to be lights-out time. Every night, Tux would sneak out of the room after the order was given to turn off all lighting, and he'd go off down the hall, into Cassie LaGall's and Rainey Banker's room. And every night, Rainey Banker would irritatedly leave just as Tuxedo arrived, and every night, she would have to come over to Glenn's room to get a little sleep, and every night, Tux would come back drunk as a bicycle, waking Glenn up and asking him if he wanted a sip of the brown stuff he'd always be holding in a glass upon arrival. Glenn couldn't help but feel rather bad for Rainey, since the loony would always wake her up too with his occasional banshee yells whenever he got back from happy-fun- time with Cassie, and she'd go storming right back to her own room. Gordon honestly wondered how Tux could be so lucky in the fact that the MPs hadn't dragged him away to the monkey house yet.  
  
But Glenn wouldn't deny the other side of the picture frame. Tuxedo was also a very good pilot, and had a serious side, too. He'd actually bested Glenn in one of the simulations, when all of the Thunderbolts went up against each other to perfect their dogfighting skills. Of course, Tux would never let him live that down, and reminded Glenn of it every hair- curled moment the two of them were awake, but even still, Glenn was already becoming fast friends with him, Rainey, and the rest of the 207th, with the obvious exception of the Lone Ranger, as the group had grown accustomed to calling Knives.  
  
Even in the debriefing room, Knives sat alone, away from the miscellaneous patches of Thunderbolts talking. Glenn, Tuxedo, and Bubba Boggs were all involved in a discussion over their leader, trying to figure out exactly why he was such a recluse. Knives was a good pilot, so it should have been easy for him to make friends. Gordon could remember Roger Winters of the 56th being one of the most popular fellows on the Clinton Air Base when he'd been in the Green Earth Air Force. But Gordon reasoned with himself that one couldn't make friends unless they wanted to. He sighed heavily.  
  
"I'll bet he's a psycho just waiting to pop out," Tux blurted in the middle of the coversation, "like in that movie I watched a few nights ago with Cass'! Yeah, when we're all asleep, he'll get him a big old jackhammer and- -"  
  
"If he's a psycho, he would have gone and popped out already with a mule like you around." Bubba grumbled, taking a sip of a rather large soda. Drinks, besides water, weren't allowed in the debriefing room, but no one really seemed to care if Bubba brought one in. Glenn didn't bother trying to figure out why.  
  
"I can't help it. I got cat class and I got cat style." Tux leaned back in his chair, taking the forelegs off the ground while he put his hands behind his head with a grin.  
  
Bubba snorted.  
  
Commander Beauregard entered then, holding a sheet of paper in one hand. Glenn noticed that the man didn't look as terribly unhappy as always. That unconciously told him something was up. Beauregard continued marching along until he reached the debriefing platform, placing the sheet of paper on the table before him. "Attention, please. If you would all be seated. Today's mission will be a standard one, but it will be a trifle more dangerous than what you've been simulating up to this point."  
  
Glenn smiled very slightly.  
  
"I'll get to the point. In today's scenario, you will be carrying out an attack on the Blue Moon 4th Space Launch Platform. Stationed there is a craft destined for space, but should it launch, it will take a controlled flight out of our planet's atmosphere and return to the ground. I think you get the idea." Beauregard tried to ignore Tux falling over backwards in his chair painfully. "Indeed, the craft is a rocket, and should it detonate, there's no telling how much damage will be done, wherever it should land. More than likely, Blue Moon Space officials can set the proper coordinates to send it wherever they choose, so the Space Launch control center will be your primary target. Should you come across enemy forces, including anti-air or enemy fighters, do what is necessary to keep your tails safe. In other words, take the proper course of action as your flight leader sees fit."  
  
Beauregard suddenly became very serious. "Do NOT destroy the rocket. I don't think I even have to tell you this, but should you do so, it will detonate and have the same impact on Blue Moon as it would on Orange Star. We're not trying to start a war here. We're simply trying to defuse a match before it turns into an inferno. I probably don't have to tell you this, either, but as always, if any civilians are killed, you will automatically fail the mission. We are not in this to kill innocent people. Once the mission is over, ground forces will move in and take control of the rocket."  
  
Beauregard fumbled with the sheet of paper, eyeing it. "Boggs, LaGall."  
  
Bubba and Cassie blinked at their names being called.  
  
"You two will focus on neutralizing the surrounding fifteen mile area from the Launch Platform. In other words, you won't be participating in the attack, but your roles are still very important ones. Should you spot enemy fighters or incoming aircraft, relay the message to the flight leader. You will all recieve more significant mission plans once you're in the sky."  
  
Glenn's smile turned into a full-out grin. Most of the other Thunderbolts grinned just as widely.  
  
"That's right - Today's scenario will not be a simulation. But I want you all to be careful out there, alright? This is real. And while you've all been in combat before, you can never be told to be careful enough." Beauregard nodded, finishing. "Okay, that's it for the briefing. Get into your flight gear and head out onto the north tarmac, we've moved your planes out there we're you'll be able to get to them easily. Dismissed."  
  
The Thunderbolts watched Glenn set a land-speed record on his way out of the room.  
  
In seconds, it seemed, he was already in the locker room, fishing out his gear from the locker and getting it all on as fast as he could. The rest of Thunderbolt Squadron entered behind him a few moments afterwards, and he was already halfway into being fully prepared for piloting one of those fighters.  
  
"Geez, Glenn," Marcus Madison mumbled, watching Gordon almost fall over as he tried to stuff his foot into one of the pant legs. "Take it easy. And take it slow, too. There's only one first time. Cherish it."  
  
"I've already had my first time. Who says I can't be excited about my four- hundred-sixty-seventh?" Glenn smirked as Marcus just shook his head.  
  
Soon, though not soon enough for Gordon, he was in his flight gear and admiring himself in the mirror. He had to admit, the Orange Star flight suit was undoubtedly superior to the Green Earth's counterpart - which was really just a jumpsuit. As he stood there holding his oxygen helmet in his hands, he overlooked the suit entirely for the first time since he'd arrived at the base, due to the fact they never used them in simulations. The jacket was black all over, with the exception of his etched-in nametag - "G. Gordon" - and the orange sleeves. As for the pants, they too, were black all the way down to the similarly black, gleaming, almost knee-high boots, but a long orange streak ran down along them on both his left and right sides. His gloves were similarly flashy, with mostly black but some orange towards the knuckles.  
  
And above his nametag were two of the most important aspects of the flight suit. An etched-in pair of wings, and a similarly sewed-in lightning bolt patch. Now he knew he really was part of this team.  
  
He refrained from telling himself he looked overly-cool, but he'd never been in such a uniform before. Not even the dress uniform of the Green Earth Air Force pilots gave him this level of proudness he felt as he stood there, looking at himself in the mirror.  
  
Before he could finish gawking at the man in the mirror who was gawking right back and he could race out onto the tarmac already, Tuxedo bobbled up, also completely decked out in the Orange Star flight gear with his oxygen helmet held under his arm. He slapped Glenn on the back viciously, laughing to himself. "Look at you! All purty'd up for the prom, eh? All we need's some glitter to go on those cute widdle eyewids of you--"  
  
Someone slapped Tux on the back even harder. "Erk--?"  
  
"And look at YOU," Bubba laughed, "are you supposed to be his date? You ain't exactly the type I'd let my daughter go out with, if I had one."  
  
"Yeah, well, her momma'd be proud of me. She'd have good taste in men, even if she did make a big ol' mistake when she was fourteen by marryin' you." Tux ran his hand through the black hair that seemed to make him so popular with some of the ladies at the Washington Air Base -- With the obvious exception of Rainey Banker.  
  
Glenn let the two boys go at it virbally, grinning at their constant but light-hearted arguing.  
  
Until he remembered something. "Uh oh."  
  
"What'sa matter with you?" Tux eyed him strangely.  
  
Glenn rubbed the back of his neck. "My mom. Uh, I sort of left my apartment in her care, including all the rent."  
  
"Well, what's so wrong with that?" Bubba asked, getting a pretty darn good idea what was wrong with it already. His assumption ended up being right.  
  
"I didn't exactly tell her I was leaving it with her."  
  
Tuxedo died laughing.  
  
"Well," Bubba started, trying to speak over the horrific laughter coming from the loudmouth, "don't worry too much about that. Especially when you're up there in the air, where no one can come between you and that fighter of yours. Not a single one. I've been flyin' for twelve years and let me tell you, there ain't any better feeling, when you're up there all alone, just you and the plane. No one can take away that feeling, not any old Commander, not your momma, not the President of Orange Star. You remember this, Glenn Gordon, when you're up there in that plane and lookin' around like a hawk, you remember this. I realized it years ago, and I might as well pass on the truth to other pilots."  
  
Glenn smiled, his sudden worrying going away smoothly. Bubba had a nice way with words, he noticed. And the big man was right, too. He had nothing to worry about, in terms of personal matters as long as he was up there in the air, inside the cockpit of what was sure to be a beautiful piece of work. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Maybe I'll call her when I get back."  
  
He then put his arms around Tux's and Bubba's shoulders as they all began to leave the locker room. "Let's go fly us some planes, boys."  
  
Tux grinned, laughing in goodheartedness now. "Yeehaw!"  
  
----------  
  
He was there. On the pavement. The wide, open space of the tarmac made him feel a little dwarfed as he walked alongside the rest of the 207th pilots, but Glenn felt good, very good. He grinned up at the sun baking down on him as he carried his helmet in his hands. A pleasant ten o'clock sun, it was, and his grin widened, feeling it would keep a good eye on him for the rest of the day.  
  
For today had now become a very good day. Here he was, walking along on the tarmac, headed for his destiny. He'd waited three or four long days for this moment, and it had finally arrived. At the moment, Glenn Gordon couldn't have felt happier.  
  
They all walked past two large dome hangars for storing fighters, and Glenn almost got chills when he looked at them. He was really going through with this. In mere moments, he'd be up there in the sky. If only he'd done this sooner! Why hadn't his class bugged him about his flying past earlier? Perhaps if he'd actually paid attention to them, he'd have realized that he still loved flying.  
  
Then, as they rounded one of the hangars and moved out onto the northernmost tarmac area, his wide eyes calmed and the grin sank slightly, but he only felt happier. There they were. The inspection crew was busy looking over all of them, making random maintenance checks over every last possible thing that could be surveyed before the fighter jets went into action. Glenn could already see the large lightning bolt icons situated on the upper wings towards the back of the aircraft, signifying that they really were for Thunderbolt Squadron, but his eyes continuously moved to the names painted in black on the sides of the fighters. Madison, Boggs, Yahasatitapen. . . Where was Gordon?  
  
The Thunderbolts finally arrived at the fighters and the maintenance crews, and everyone was already shooting for their respective planes. Gordon paused, looking around, rubbing the back of his head. Old fears began to rise. Was there some sort of fluke in paper management? Would he not have a fighter for another week? He fully expected Commander Beauregard to pop out of nowhere and tell him there was a mixup in orders, and that he wouldn't get to fly today.  
  
Everything always happened to him. He always got the short end of the stick. Why couldn't he ever get some good luck for once? Why always him?  
  
He blinked, his hand behind his head freezing in place, and his eyes moved towards the plane he was standing directly next to, centering on the name on its side.  
  
Gordon.  
  
Feeling somewhat sheepish as the maintenance crews stared at the man standing by his plane for no apparent reason other than to rub the back of his head, he smiled to himself. Someone was looking out for him today. He could just feel it. With the smile not fading in the least, his hand latched onto the bottom of the little ladder leading up to the open cockpit of the aircraft, and he quickly began to climb skyward.  
  
Soon, he was sitting there in the cockpit and taking in the sounds and smells. He continued on with the standard start-up procedures as he stuffed the oxygen helmet on, completely obscuring his head, face, and some of his neck. He flipped up the black visor, though, staring at the numerous controls of the plane.  
  
He pressed a button, and the canopy began to close shut, quickly making him feel somewhat claustrophobic when it did, but the feeling went away as soon as it had arrived. He hit a few more buttons on the console and he began to attach the large number of seatbelts together that would hold him in place during flight and evasive maneuvers. They'd really come in handy, and he knew it. He'd even needed the seatbelts during the simulations, where the makeshift plane situated on the ground bobbed back and forth, giving him a continuous headache. Good thing for seatbelts -- Crashing around in the cockpit in the middle of a simulator wasn't his idea of doing well.  
  
The engines of the fighter began to start up just after he'd pressed the small number of buttons. Slowly, their noise level combined became hideous, causing Glenn to also feel thankful for the helmet and its noise desensitizors. Without them, he'd probably go deaf, especially when the afterburners came into play.  
  
His finger pressed another button on the console, sending his radio transmission to ground control.  
  
"Gordon requesting clearance for taxiing," he uttered into the radio situated in his helmet, wishing he could just blast off on the spot and head into the air without the consent of officials. He was too anxious, and he knew it.  
  
Gotta calm down, gotta slow down, he told himself. Being inside of a plane wouldn't do him any good if he had a heart attack in the middle of it.  
  
"Gordon, cleared for departure." Gordon smiled as the ground control official gave him the order. Finally, he could move. "Taxi to North Runway 1. Contact tower."  
  
"Affirmative," he replied, watching Rainey Banker's fighter finish taxiing towards the runway. He could tell she was probably contacting the control tower as well, waiting for clearance to get going into the air. Glenn wondered if she was as anxious to get going as he was, because her plane didn't completely stop when reaching the runway. He only chuckled to himself at the sight.  
  
Slowly, his fighter lurched forward, and he felt movement beneath him, sending another giddy feeling through him. This was real movement. This was no simulator.  
  
He reached the edge of the runway, and his hand again pressed a button on the console, this time changing the frequency over to the control tower. "Gordon requesting clearance for take-off."  
  
He prayed something wouldn't go wrong. Beauregard could be up there in the control tower, and he'd tell Glenn to stop everything he was doing, that something was slightly out of balance on the fighter, that they'd have to take it back to the shop. And it would probably take days to fix. Either that or it would never get fixed, and he'd be grounded for life.  
  
Glenn forced himself to quit worrying, like Bubba had told him to do. Even still, though, he felt a sweatdrop run down his head as he awaited clearance. Would he finally be able to get going? Was all this excitement for naught?  
  
It wasn't. "Gordon, cleared for take-off."  
  
Glenn grinned and refrained from shouting out a "yahoo" that would inevitably go to the control tower.  
  
He excitedly gave the fighter jet gas again, and it again slowly began rolling forward, this time turning onto the runway. Finally, Gordon lowered the black visor on his helmet and ratcheted the throttle up to full when the fighter was pointed straight down the runway, and it began to move forward. Quickly. When it was moving as fast as it could push when on the ground, he kicked in the afterburners, and the jet shot forward like a bullet, sending him right back in his seat and sending some of the blood in his head towards the back. It was still the best feeling in the world, as far as he was concerned.  
  
His hands gripped the control stick, pulling back on it hard. The fighter blasted up off the ground and headed skyward. For a moment, he felt he'd almost faint from not only the sudden, vicious amount of G-forces but also from the excitement surging through his body powerfully.  
  
Before he realized it, he was off the ground by nearly five-thousand feet. Tuxedo was flying to his seven o'clock as his wingmate, and the rest of the squadron was all around him as well. He looked out towards the greenish horizon and the big, beautiful blue sky. Now he could remember one of the reasons he loved flying so much. Everything looked so small, dwarfed, insignificant.  
  
Bubba had been right. None of his personal problems down there meant a single thing up here. This was where he belonged.  
  
It's good to be back, he thought as he smiled to himself.  
  
----------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
I have a fairly large problem, and I'd like you folks to give a little feedback, if you can. See, AW2 isn't coming out for at least two more months, and I feel I'm writing this faster than I should if I want it to take place during the game, when Black Hole returns. So, what do you think I should do? I could wait until the game comes out and take chapters as slow as possible until then, or I could just do what Dr. Bross did, and have Black Hole show up whenever I feel. Or if you have anything in mind, let me know. Thanks for the current and future reviews, and I hope to continue pleasing you with this fanfiction piece in the future. 


	4. The Grace of a Leader

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Four: The Grace of a Leader~  
  
~----~  
  
So here I am in Blue Moon again, Glenn thought from the cockpit of his fighter jet.  
  
"It hasn't changed much," he said aloud, not realizing that whatever he said automatically went into the ears of his seven comrades.  
  
"Something the matter, Gordon?" Knives' solid voice asked. Gordon coughed slightly, realizing his mistake, and turned his attention back to what he should have been doing: keeping the aircraft level with his wingmates. The eight orange fighter jets had by now crossed over the Blue Moon border with little to no resistance from ground forces. Anti-air units had taken a few potshots at them, but the fighters had been too far out of range for any such attack. However, that mentally told Gordon to expect resistance from the rocket launch pad area.  
  
It ain't gonna be pretty once we get there, he realized. While he was happy to be back in the cockpit of a jet, he didn't want it to end already by getting shot down by some Blue Moon yokel.  
  
"This is your co-Captain speakin'," Tuxedo blabbed into his helmet's radio unit from the jet flying beside Glenn's, "we're, ahhh, about ten thousand feet above ground, that's almost two miles to fall if your wings get shot off, and--"  
  
"You're a nutcase, Tux." Glenn couldn't help but shake his head and smile at the helmeted head of the clown in the other jet. He could even see the crazy fellow turn in his cockpit and give him a hearty wave while laughing like a chicken over the radio. Somehow, though, Glenn felt a little better knowing he was around these people. They'd keep him safe if he did so for them. It was a good exchange.  
  
"Lead has visual on target," the voice of Knives told the Thunderbolts. Gordon snapped back to attention and looked out into the distant horizon, towards where a group of mountains were nestled. Even in the cockpit of his orange fighter, he could see a small populated area. It was, presumably, the Blue Moon rocket launcher pad that they were to take control of - or if needbe, destroy.  
  
In the fighter leading the eight orange fighter jets, Knives flipped a few switches and pressed a button or two on his flight console. "Ready armaments, set weapons to missiles."  
  
Glenn and the rest of the Thunderbolts did so, arming the fighters and overall preparing them for action. While they were still a considerable distance from the rocket launch area, preparation was still a good idea nevertheless, however far away they may have been. If they weren't prepared when they began to dive their planes, anti-air units could be stationed down on the ground before they even got within close proximity of the launch pad, and then they'd have a real mess on their hands.  
  
"Keep an eye on your radars," the lead said. "Don't get too involved in what you're doing and miss something that pops up."  
  
As much as he didn't want to, Glenn had to listen to everything Knives was saying. It had been the same way in the simulations, even though he'd frequently rebelled against some of the man's orders. Beauregard and the other Thunderbolts had to constantly remind him to put up with Knives, or he'd be punished by the Air Force as they saw fit. Now that he'd gotten the idea, Glenn always just smirked and grumbled whenever Knives gave him a specific order.  
  
"Boggs, LaGall, break off now."  
  
Glenn watched Bubba's and Cassie's plane break away from the main herd and head off in another direction. They would be the look-outs of the horizon while the action down towards the launch pad commenced. "Good luck, guys."  
  
"Thanks, Glenn, you too." Bubba was the only one who responded. Glenn had realized in the past few days that Cassie didn't like him a whole lot, and she had most certainly showed it, too, by generally acting snooty and annoyed with him whenever he was around. She sure seemed to be fond of Tux - and Rainey, to a certain extent - but since Glenn didn't find Cassie interesting enough to even bother trying to be friends with, the general idea was that a brick wall was up between the two of them, and he didn't care in the least. He had more important things to worry about than Cassie LaGall.  
  
Like Rainey Banker, for instance. Over the past few days, he had developed a friendship with her whenever she'd come storming into his and Tux's room after Glenn's hyperactive roomie had strutted off to have a good old merry time with Cass'. They'd end up talking, and Glenn had discovered that she was actually sane, unlike her obnoxious room-mate. He'd even told her a bit about his past and the events that had occured after he was shot down over Blue Moon. Rainey had actually been genuinely interested, the exact opposite of those moronic television reporters who continuously bugged the blazes out of him.  
  
"Were you ever scared?" she had asked him last night before Glenn had fallen asleep. He hadn't quite been able to find a suitable answer, but he eventually realized - or remembered the truth.  
  
"Yeah, I suppose I was," he'd answered tiredly. "Anyone would be, especially during the firefight in the middle of that neutral town."  
  
Rainey had hesitated before her next question. "What was it like to kill those Blue Moon soldiers?"  
  
Glenn had been able to recall his own gunfight in the middle of a coffee house during the battle outside between Orange Star and Blue Moon. He'd luckily had a handgun on him when a Blue Moon soldier had entered the coffee house with a bazooka, and Glenn had taken him down in less than a second. Two other soldiers had entered, and he'd downed one of them, too.  
  
He had realized that he'd never really thought about it. "I was so caught up in everything that was going on, I guess I don't really remember what it was like. I've never given it much thought."  
  
Then, he had thought more about it. He had killed those two soldiers himself. Sure, he'd done it before in a Green Earth jet against enemy Blue Moon fighters, and Orange Star fighters, when Eagle had still been chasing after the Orange Star commanding officer, Andy, but that had been plane against plane. He had killed the soldiers with a gun. Face to face. Whenever he was in a jet and took down another with a missile, he'd never seen the pain in the other pilot's eyes. When he had shot those two Blue Mooners, though, only then, there on the bed in his air base room did he recall the looks on their faces the instant before he pulled the trigger.  
  
Rainey had seen the sudden pain on Glenn's face, and she'd come over and sat down on his bed next to him, and had put her arms around him for comfort.  
  
I really can depend on these people, Glenn thought. I really can. Rainey, Tuxedo, Bubba, all of them. Even Knives, to a certain extent. It was this realization as he sat there in the jet's cockpit going three hundred miles an hour that made him realize how lucky he was to have a leader like Knives.  
  
He puts up with me right back, he realized. Suddenly, he felt very pained for not giving the fellow another chance at friendship, or at least to give and get a little respect from each other, even though Knives had apparently not wanted anything to do with Glenn from the moment they met.  
  
"Dive!" It was Knives' voice again filling his ears. Immediately, unconciously coming back to his bearings, Glenn shoved on his jet's control stoke hard, sending it forward. His jet, along with the five others flying near him, jerked forward, diving down directly towards the launch pad that they had now come within close proximity of. "Keep your eyes and ears open!"  
  
Even in the cockpit of his fighter, Glenn could already see a slew of anti- air units firing up at them, down on the ground on the concrete of the launch base. And there was the rocket, pointed skyward, seemingly oblivious to the sudden gunfire, ignoring everything around it. Glenn knew that if the rocket got its chance, it would blow them all to hell. He remembered that he was here to keep that from happening, and his eyes narrowed as his determination to accomplish their mission grew.  
  
"Spread, Thunderbolts!" Knives' orange jet jerked to its side, swinging off on a different direction, away from the base. The rest of the Thunderbolts did the same, but they stayed two-by-two, the wingmates flying together.  
  
"Stay with me, Tux," Glenn called to his wingmate, "get ready to give them a little ringing in their ears!"  
  
Inside the cockpit of his jet, Tuxedo only smiled underneath his helmet. "I love it when this happens."  
  
Down on the Blue Moon launch base's tarmac, the anti-air unit operators continued firing at the Orange Star jets above, but they quickly realized that two of them were headed directly for the base -- And at well over seven hundred miles an hour. Immediately, most of them came under the assumption that some of their anti-air rounds had made contact, but the outcome would be plum awful for them. "Look out!"  
  
As rapidly as they could, the anti-air operators jumped from their seats, down onto the tarmac, and they bolted from the sitting units like their pants were on fire.  
  
Glenn watched the Blue Mooners scurry like rats, and he chuckled to himself. His gloved hands gripped the stick tighter and pulled backwards, bringing the fighter up. He glanced over to the side, seeing Tux was doing the same. He must have done this before, Glenn realized. That would figure.  
  
The anti-air operators dove forward and covered their fur-hatted heads as the jets would make inevitable contact with the ground.  
  
But nothing came. Some of them blinked in confusion and looked up -- just as the two Orange Star fighters piloted by Glenn Gordon and Tuxedo Ral blew over the launch base at well over eight hundred miles an hour. The sonic boom that followed them shattered the large glass-panel windows on the control center, and also gave everyone in the area a darn good head-and- earache, including the un-ear-protected anti-air operators.  
  
"What in the name of Yellow Comet?" One of the Blue Mooners jumped to his feet, despite his horribly ringing ears. "Get your butts back on those anti-air units!"  
  
That wouldn't be happening anytime soon. Most of the other Blue Mooners looked at their leader, with puzzled expressions on their faces, as if they hadn't heard what he'd said.  
  
"Yeehaw!" Glenn pointed his fighter towards the sun, grinning to himself. "Okay, Tux, let's come around again and target the command center so we can get this over with. Lead, do we have permission to do so?"  
  
Knives' voice came through the earpiece in Glenn's helmet instantly. "Permission gr--"  
  
"Incoming aircraft!" It was Cassie's voice. "Incoming aircraft from the north-east! Estimated time of arrival is thirty seconds."  
  
Oh, damn, Glenn thought. They couldn't destroy the command center in that amount of time and high-tail their rear ends out of the area by the time those fighters arrived. This was indeed going to get pretty ugly, no matter how many aircraft were on their way.  
  
He looked down at the little green radar mechanism situated on his fighter's cockpit console. So far, it was just reading the Orange Star aircraft - eight blinking white dots.  
  
But then, just when he'd thought that maybe Cassie was wrong by some freakish accident, two more white dots suddenly appeared on the radar out of nowhere.  
  
Marcus got his message out first. "I've got two new bogeys on radar, lead."  
  
"Cassie," Knives growled from his jet that was by now circling around the launch base while the rest of them worried about what was showing up on their radars, "how many aircraft did you spot?"  
  
There was no mistaking the worried tone in Cassie's voice. "I counted six, Bubba, what about you?"  
  
"Same here, Cass'," Bubba's equally-jittery voice uttered.  
  
Six? That wasn't the normal amount for a Blue Moon squadron. They, like Orange Star, were supposed to have eight fighters at any normal given time. Something here was seriously wrong, and it quickly made Glenn Gordon feel a little more rattled than he should have been. "Tux, come around with me. Get ready to break off if we get a little too close to those bogeys."  
  
"That's a big ten-four, coo-coo-coo!" Tux blabbered into the radio, trying to sound very much like a southern hick cop.  
  
Glenn turned his fighter onto its starboard side and swung around, headed north-east. He could already see the enemy fighters speeding towards the launch pad base like bats with their wings ablaze. He could also by now see the color they were painted.  
  
Yep, he realized, they're Blue Mooners. "Do we have permission to engage, lead?"  
  
He didn't even have to ask. He could already see Knives' jet shooting out towards where the enemy fighters were coming in from. "Affirmative, Gordon. Let's be careful, Thunderbolts."  
  
Rock and roll, Glenn thought.  
  
Pushing the throttle up to full as he leveled out, Glenn watched three of the Blue Moon fighters blow right past his own plane to his left side at a combined speed of fifteen hundred miles per hour. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen if his own plane made physical contact with one of them at such a speed. The other half fighters, being tailed by Cassie and Bubba, shot off to his right, on a more diagonal direction to him.  
  
Cassie and Bubba can keep them shaking in the litter box, Glenn realized. He'd help deal with the other half of the enemy fighters that had gone past him on his left.  
  
"Break to port, Tux!" He less-than-gently moved the yoke to his left, quickly bringing his orange jet onto its side while Tuxedo did the same less than fifty feet from him. The two fighters swung around, Gordon looking up to see if he could get a visual on where the enemy fighters were. Tux's jet was obscuring most of his view of the launch base, but he spotted on Blue Mooner pulling stunts on a Thunderbolt's tail.  
  
He immediately swung the jet back around, but almost regretted doing so. Now the g-forces were really starting to push him around in the seat, and overall giving him as bad a headache as the Blue Mooners down on the ground had.  
  
Oh man, I've gotta get more used to this, he thought. The simulations couldn't account for such a thing like gravity forces pushing one's head to the side like a freight train.  
  
He sent his fighter into a roll that brought him around onto the Blue Mooner's rear end, and he immediately realized that being right there while the enemy fighter chased another Thunderbolt was, while a good idea, not necessarily perfect. If he fired a missile, the Blue Mooner could shimmy and for all he knew the blasted thing would end up hitting the Orange Star fighter, and that'd end someone's day real quick and finish the Blue Mooner's job for him, at that. The same thing could be said if he switched the weapons mechanism over to his fighter's machine guns.  
  
He'd just have to try and scare this guy away. "Let me see if I can get a missile lock on him, Tux, you hang there and keep and eye out for anyone who decides they have a death wish and gets on our tails."  
  
"Go to town," Tuxedo cooly replied.  
  
Glenn activated the missile lock system and a low beeping sound filled his already-noisy cockpit. A small square-shaped block appeared on a console screen, showing him the view of the front of the aircraft. The block swung around on the screen as Glenn carefully maneuvered the fighter around with the yoke. "Come on, stick, damnit."  
  
The block's rapid movements slowed, and when they passed through the image of the Blue Mooner fighter on the screen, it latched onto the enemy, and a continuous beep arose in Glenn's ears. "I've got a lock."  
  
Without hesitation, the Blue Moon fighter in front of him sharply broke off from its objective, and shot off to Glenn's left.  
  
"Hah!" Glenn celebrated, allowing himself to smile for a split second. "You're clear, 'bolt."  
  
"Beg ten-foor, koo-koo-koo," the foreign voice replied, apparently trying to match Tux's clownish way with words, but not being overly-successful at it.  
  
Glenn tried not to grin further in such a crisis, but it couldn't be helped. If Achmed wasn't careful, the Thunderbolts would probably have another loony like Tuxedo on their hands.  
  
Just after the Blue Mooner had broken off from Achmed, Glenn shoved his control stick down hard and to the left. Two Blue Moon fighters flying by each other were making a run towards a block of Thunderbolts, and Glenn hoped to intercept them before they went into decisive action. Tux still hung to Glenn's seven o'clock, just as a wing-mate should have. Glenn felt rather thankful that the crazy-yet-dependable fellow was there, keeping an eye on what was going on around him.  
  
The two Blue Moon fighters blew under Glenn and Tux as the two orange fighters came down upon them.  
  
Damn! He hadn't gotten there in time. Well, he'd just have to go with the flow. Luckily, the angle he was pointed in allowed him to come around right on the Blue Mooner's tails. Neither of them seemed to realize that the Orange Star fighters that had been coming down on them were now hanging on their rear ends, until it was too late.  
  
Glenn switched over to machine guns rather than missiles, as he was too close to risk an explosion directly in front of his own aircraft. Carefully, he put one of the Blue Mooners in his gun sights and pressed the red button on his control stick with his right index finger.  
  
Gunfire tore from his aircraft at the Blue Moon fighter. The other pilot instantly realized what was happening when some of his systems failed due to the damage the powerful bullets from the Orange Star fighter, and he pulled up on his own yoke.  
  
Glenn anticipated this, since the Blue Mooner was directly next to another, and he pulled right on up with the other aircraft as well, still fully firing without signs of slowing down as long as the other craft was hovering there in his sights. In less than three seconds, the blue aircraft was a flaming pile of junk, and was on a direct course towards the ground, but not without presenting an immediate problem for the Orange Star pilot who had taken it apart.  
  
"Damn!" Glenn, despite grimacing slightly in pity of the now-or-soon-to-be- dead Blue Moon pilot, didn't have alot of time to think about options. He shoved his control stick forward hard and to the right, diving almost directly under the flaming wreckage of the Blue Moon fighter, the two aircraft coming within mere feet of each other. Just as this happened, the other Blue Moon aircraft that had beenf lying next to its now-destroyed comrade shot out to its left. It was obscured by the falling wreckage for a moment, and Glenn couldn't instantly get a bead on it as it swung out.  
  
This is a dogfight if I've ever been in one, he thought. "Tux, break to port! Go get him!"  
  
"There's one comin' around on us, Glenn!"  
  
Glenn muttered some unintelligable obscenity towards the random Blue Moon pilot the man spoke of, thankfully not loud enough for his fellow pilots to hear through their intercoms. "Split! Go left!"  
  
Tuxedo did so, shooting off to port while Glenn went to starboard. As he swung around on his right wing, Glenn looked out towards the dogfight occuring just over the launch base. Out of all the aircraft his eyes could have centered on, he chose to watch the Blue Moon fighter staying with Tux like a hyena, matching the Orange Star fighter's rapid, skillful whips and jerks to every which way move for move.  
  
"He's still with you, Tux, I'm comin' around. That guy'll be gone in two shakes in whatever's left of a lambchop's tail."  
  
Bringing his speed down, Glenn started to swing around where Tux was headed, but found himself in the oncoming path of a Blue Moon fighter.  
  
"Whoah!" Not thinking conciously at all about what options were open and what weren't, he went with his instinct and shoved the control stick of his fighter forward. Thankfully, his instinct was correct in its choice. The Blue Mooner didn't pull the same maneuver. Its pilot pulled upwards, blowing right over Glenn's canopy by less than a hundred feet. That had been far too close for comfort.  
  
"Damnit!" The near-collision and the evasive action he'd taken had thrown him off course, away from Tux. "Just hang in there for a bit, let me deal with a few things first."  
  
"Glenn, this ain't no damned stroll through the grass--" Tuxedo, despite a possible death within the next few moments, still sounded fairly carefree and cool. Glenn unconciously envied this aspect of the crazy fool's.  
  
"I know, just hang tight," Gordon interrupted, sending his fighter into a snap-kick onto its side again, rolling once completely to successfully blow past more Blue Moon fighter wreckage with the ground for a destination. He pointed his jet's nose towards a flock of bogeys that were apparently giving Knives a hard time. "See if you can get over here with Knives and this bunch, maybe it'll mix that fly on your tail up a little."  
  
Tuxedo's expression went sour. "What, are you friggin' nuts? You want me to get CLOSER to them?"  
  
"It'll mix him up and give you a better chance of survival, since they'll be busier dodging each other than us!"  
  
Oh hell, Tux thought, rolling his eyes slightly despite the situation, and he ratcheted his jet's throttle up to full, heading in the direction of where their leader was. "Alright, I'm coming, but keep an eye on this buzzard on my butt, alright?"  
  
"Alright, I'll try. Keep coming. Keep giving him a hard time with getting a missile lock, he could get thrown off before you even get there."  
  
Glenn corkscrewed right through the patch of Blue Mooners giving Knives a difficult time, and surprising all of the enemy pilots a good deal. Or at least, he hoped so. He instantly sent his fighter into a roll that would hopefully bring him around on someone's tail. Personally, he just prayed the Blue Mooners would spread out and quit picking on the one guy.  
  
He watched one of them break out and begin to try and come around on him, but the rest still latched onto Knives' back like hornets.  
  
That's strange, Glenn thought. Why are all of these guys targeting just Knives? They'd do better taking us all on.  
  
He continued to stay there, hovering on the tail of the Blue Mooners chasing his leader. He switched his weapons mechanism back over to missiles, and initiated the lock-on sequence. The familiar beeping sound arose as the little square-shaped block on the console screen once again appeared. Carefully, cautiously, Glenn waited until the block took center- stage onto one of the Blue Mooners. He didn't have to worry much about the missile missing, with the aircraft situated behind Knives as they were.  
  
Before the Blue Moon aircraft could shimmy out away from their prey, Glenn pulled the trigger on his yoke. A lone missile shot out from underneath his orange fighter and screamed through the air at a scarily faster speed than the fighters were traveling at. It slammed directly into the underbelly of the Blue Moon fighter it targeted. Glenn could only watch the hideous explosion that followed with a sincere shake of his head.  
  
The talk with Rainey last night had made him feel somewhat enlightened now, even here in the middle of a dogfight like this one. He couldn't help but wonder if he'd start to feel bad for every Blue Mooner he took out like this.  
  
Then he remembered the Blue Moon fighter that had broken off from chasing Knives. "Wait, where's--"  
  
Oh crap, he thought.  
  
The Blue Moon fighter was speeding along almost directly behind him, matching his movements just as Tux's predator was doing. "I've got one on me!"  
  
This was not going good. Every Thunderbolt had his or her hands filled with something, even with the odds being in their favor. No one was free. He'd have to get himself out of this mess, he realized, and do it fast. His eyes continuously flashed from where his fighter was headed and where the Blue Mooner on his tail was. Every time he struggled around in the seat and looked back as well as he could have, the blue fighter jet was still hanging there with him, and this worried Glenn heavily. He could feel his blood pressure rising rapidly. "Someone get this damned weasel off me!"  
  
Then, when Glenn turned in the cockpit once more, he noticed something strange about the enemy fighter chasing him. No, that's not right, that can't be right. But Glenn had perfect eyesight. He had definitely seen some sort of red line running along on the sides of the Blue Moon fighter, and even a picture or two of a hawk on the upper-and-underside of its wings. "What in hell?"  
  
But before he could try and decipher exactly what was so special about this Blue Mooner, his eyes flashed down to the command center after seeing something very abnormal out of their corners.  
  
And his voice became almost hysterical. "The rocket is launching!"  
  
Down on the Blue Moon rocket launch pad, the very underside of the rocket Orange Star was to take control of was beginning to smoke and spark, its normal powering-up phase before launch. The Blue Mooners on the ground were already running to get as far away from the rocket as best they could, most of them jumping in their anti-air units and choosing the method of driving away rather than running away. That would present yet another problem. A few of them were firing up at patches of Orange Star fighters that didn't have a Blue Mooner within dangerous proximity. "We've gotta get outta here, now!"  
  
"No, destroy the command center immediately! People, get down there and blow that thing to hell!" Knives sounded just as frustrated as he did.  
  
Glenn didn't hesitate in the least. He shoved his control stick downwards and in the direction of the launch pad base. He could already see that almost every other Thunderbolt was doing the same, with the lone exception one or two. That didn't matter at the moment, though, he had to destroy that damned command center, even if this buzzard still hung on his tail while he did so.  
  
Tuxedo was also doing the same as Glenn, in the fact that he was breaking speed records while trying to reach the command center and also worrying about someone on his tail.  
  
But then, all of a sudden, the Blue Moon fighter chasing him came up directly next to him. Tux looked over at the craft, puzzled beyond belief. "Well, what in blue blazes is this hombré doing?"  
  
The pilot inside of the Blue Moon aircraft gave him an almost evil wave. Tuxedo felt a cold chill run down his spine as his eyes widened. "The hell?"  
  
Suddenly, the blue fighter broke away from beside him, and tore back upwards. In the heat of the moment, Tux caught the name on the side of the blue jet. Gallow? A strange last name, but hadn't he heard it before?  
  
Then, he realized what was happening.  
  
Oh my God, he thought to himself, staring up towards Knives' fighter and the Blue Moon aircraft descending on it.  
  
Glenn was busy shooting like a bullet towards the command center they had to take out, all the while having with the snake-of-a-pilot on his tail. He grumbled hideously to himself. "Come on, somebody fire!"  
  
He didn't even have to say that. Just after his sentence had finished, a slew of missiles shot out from the orange fighters, directly towards the launch base command center. Even up where he was, Glenn could see people running out of the place like ants, trying to get as far away as possible, but his attention wasn't completely on them. He'd fired one, two, maybe even three missiles himself. He'd been so hysterical, he couldn't even account for how many he had let loose.  
  
The multiplied power of the missiles would prove to be devastating. Each and every one made contact with their intended target. Glenn watched as the Blue Moon launch base command center exploded in a firey inferno with each hit of the missiles, and the rocket began to power down, the smoke coming out from under it ceasing. He allowed himself to smile when he heard cheering come over the radio. "Hahah! Chalk this one up as a victor- -"  
  
"Get your wings back up here, pronto! Get up here IMMEDIATELY!" It was the frantic voice of not Knives, but Tuxedo.  
  
"What?" Suddenly, Glenn remembered the enemy Blue Moon fighters, and he whirled around as best to his ability in his cockpit seat, trying to get a bead on the Blue Mooner that was chasing him. Immediately, he almost swallowed his lungs.  
  
The Blue Mooner wasn't there any more! "Where the hell--"  
  
The sight made him nearly gasp. There they were, all of the remaining Blue Moon fighters, unloading missile after missile on one single Orange Star aircraft. Not taking a half moment to pause, Glenn shoved his control stick as hard as he could to the side, ready to give the Blue Mooners whatever he had left.  
  
But it wouldn't matter. The Blue Moon fighters were already high-tailing it away from the launch base. Glenn felt something tug at his heart inside of him as he watched whatever was left of the Orange Star craft they had pounded descend towards the ground, completely blackened and smoking. Just before it made contact with the ground and again exploded, he turned his head away. He wouldn't see a second of it.  
  
By now, the Blue Moon fighters were out of range for them to pursue. It would only prove to be dangerous for them if they kept on like predators. The further they went into Blue Moon, the lesser chance there was of any of them coming back to Orange Star alive.  
  
"Who was that?" he heard Marcus ask. No one answered. They'd find out soon enough, sooner than any of them would like.  
  
It was nearing five o'clock in the afternoon when Thunderbolt Squadron finally returned to the Washington Air Base. Commander Beauregard was watching the incoming fighters make their landings from the control tower with a set of binoculars.  
  
"So they got back alright," he uttered to the Orange Star operator seated in the chair next to him. "Looks like they're all accounted for."  
  
Wait, he thought. He miscounted.  
  
There were only seven of them returning.  
  
"Damn," he cursed to himself, quickly putting on his commander's cap and stepping out of the room, making haste towards where the pilots would be getting out of their aircraft.  
  
It didn't take long. The Thunderbolts were on the ground quickly enough, though none of them was necessarily anticipating this moment. Each of them looked around confusedly, trying to account for who was present and who wasn't. It only took them seconds to realize who wasn't there.  
  
Glenn was the one who looked around the most. Slowly, he came to the realization that the one who wasn't present was Knives.  
  
At that moment, Beauregard stepped up to them as they all stood there on the tarmac of the base. The expression on his face told them he was just as upset if not more than any of them. But Beauregard had seen such things as this happen before. In fact, he'd seen it all too often.  
  
But this was a blow. Knives was their leader, this was their first mission, this was their first loss. Rebounding from such a hit would not be overly simple. Slowly, he waved his hand, uttering not a word as he motioned for them to follow him inside the base. Most of them did, but one pilot stayed behind.  
  
Glenn Gordon stood there on the tarmac a few moments longer, holding his helmet in his hands, thinking it best to simply stare out into the sunset and the horizon, and reflect for the time being.  
  
----------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Not much to say here. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I finished writing it at almost one a.m., and I'm anxious to get it up, so if you see any mistakes, just say, "whoops, there's one," or something, and checkmark it, spit on it, ask it to dance, whatever. In any case, thanks for reading, and I'll get the next chapter out soon, hopefully.  
  
(As for my Black Hole situation, I'm still thinking about it, and I'll make a decision soon. Don't worry about it anymore.) 


	5. Unleash the Birds of War

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Five: Unleash the Birds of War~  
  
~----~  
  
"My Lord, the invasion has commenced."  
  
"Progress?"  
  
"Undeniably superior compared to the first invasion. Forces stationed in Macro Land's Orange Star region are already nearing its capital. It should be only a matter of hours."  
  
"And?"  
  
"The same can be said for the other countries. There has been little resistance from the Green Earth military thus far, but we're expecting that to change in the near future. As for Blue Moon and Yellow Comet, the progress is comparable to that of Orange Star. Not only that, but many enemy troops are surrendering, some to our cause. What better weapon is there than to turn an enemy into an ally?"  
  
"Do not waste words of advice on me, Admiral. You forget who your superior is in this matter."  
  
"Yes, My Lord."  
  
--------  
  
"How long has it been? Three months?"  
  
"Beats me." Glenn Gordon knew quite well that Tuxedo was probably right. It HAD probably been somewhere in the vicinity of three months since he'd joined the Thunderbolts and had been placed in command of the squadron due to the untimely demise of Knives. Glenn didn't really find keeping up to date on such things necessary; he preferred the memories to the official reports and dates. Besides, did it matter how long ago it was? It really made no difference anymore. Tuxedo just liked to hear his own voice, and talked of such things that didn't actually need to be talked about, whether it was when or where this or that battle happened, why the sky was blue, or why the cheese in his burger was such a strange color.  
  
Glenn brought his right leg up and propped one black boot onto the table while he sat there in a chair in the Washington Air Base's relaxation lounge. He was trying to read a book, particularly a western since he had a soft spot for 'spaghetti-western' tales of old Orange Star, but noisy old Tuxedo Ral wouldn't shut his big trap, despite knowing full well Glenn was trying to concentrate.  
  
The pilot sighed. Why did Tux bring up such things, especially when Glenn was trying to relax? He began to finger at the pages of the book unconciously while debating whether or not to not-so-kindly inform the other loudmouthed pilot of his unnecessary noise levels, but his mind began to wander back to when Knives had been killed.  
  
Glenn had been placed in command of the squadron immediately thereafter and had been given the rank of 2nd Lieutenant later that week for no other reason than that he had more flight experience than anyone else. Beauregard felt all of the Thunderbolts were exceptional pilots, but sometimes, in his words or speeches, there were hints every now in then that he favored Gordon. Something about 'leadership qualities,' or 'excellent records,' or perhaps even 'nice attitude.' Glenn never knew what to think of it. The very last thing he wanted was for every one else in the squadron to look at him like a damned teacher's pet, but Beauregard seemed intent at accomplishing what Glenn didn't want happening.  
  
And what was worse was that Glenn hadn't gotten many chances to really prove that he had leadership qualities at all. Ever since the dogfight over the Blue Moon rocket base, negotiations had begun between Orange Star and Blue Moon, serious ones at that. Orange Star head-honchos had agreed to give Blue Moon the resource Olaf wanted so badly so long as the fighting ceased. To Glenn, that hadn't been a satisfactory conclusion to the border conflicts. When a dogfight like that one occured, one would assume it would lead to war. Apparently, thanks to bigwigs at the Orange Star capital, no such thing would be occuring. Gordon was thankful for that, but was irate at the same time for obvious reasons.  
  
Tuxedo interrupted Glenn's involuntary thinking with another blatant disregard for the giant "Quiet Please" sign on the nearby wall. "God almighty, I don't think I've ever been this bored around here. Are we goin' up today or not?"  
  
Rolling his eyes ever so slightly, Glenn glanced towards a window.  
  
"I seriously doubt it," he commented while watching the heavy downpour. Glenn liked rain, personally; he'd never seen enough of it growing up in a dry region of Green Earth, but Tuxedo seemed to loathe it for some reason or another. Rumor around the base had it he'd been struck by lightning a couple of times. Tux always denied it, but Glenn found it to be a likely explanation since it would account for the man's downright hideous behavior.  
  
"They oughta put a game system in here or something. With lots of video games, too. I like them strategy games." And Tux went right into a long- winded speech about games or some such nonsense.  
  
Halfway through it, Glenn prepared to begin strangling the other pilot until both their teeth rattled, but Bubba Boggs and Tristan Royal both entered the lounge's door just before their squad leader went off the deep end. Gordon regained whatever composure he may have had before they entered and propped both feet up onto the table now, as though he'd been relaxing the entire time. "Hey, guys."  
  
Tux didn't stop babbling, he only nodded to the newcomers while trying to refrain from straying off in his side-winding tale.  
  
Tristan sat down next to Glenn while Bubba was forced to sit next to the obnoxious bigmouth no longer going on about games but how he lost his car keys one day and found them in Cassie's purse. Gordon couldn't help but eye Tristan for a moment.  
  
Everytime I see that kid, he thought to himself, he looks more and more out of place among us.  
  
Tristan was seventeen years of age, and if anything he looked younger than that. As far as Glenn was concerned, the air force was no place for a minor to be, especially in the seat of one of those jets outside getting soaked. He'd never bothered actually coming out and telling anyone of his negative feelings, though, nor had he ever given any hints about it. Glenn preferred to keep things straight and forward. It made things easier in life, which was hard enough without having to look for a whole bunch of clues in what other people were saying. Besides, Tristan was as good a pilot as any of them, and while he hadn't gotten up in the air as often as he'd have liked, he'd proved how good he was in the simulations. It would seem that the newest addition to the Thunderbolts was not completely without piloting skill.  
  
On the other hand, he didn't have as much respect as the others, and everyone abused this knowledge, especially Tuxedo.  
  
"Hey," the human noisemaker suddenly interrupted himself to comment on Tristan's presence, "did they let daycare out already?"  
  
Glenn gave Tux a hard look. He knew the excessively obnoxious pilot was only kidding, since he was certainly as good-hearted as the rest of them, but sometimes, Glenn just wished he'd shut up for a change.  
  
Still, Tristan would have to learn to deal with this. The kid would be better because of it, in the end, and Glenn had the feeling this was something Tuxedo knew, even if he wouldn't have readily admitted it at the moment.  
  
"I don't know, why don't you go check?" It was obvious that Tristan was trying to force himself to stand up to such negative verbal abuse. "You seem to belong at a daycare sometimes along with the rest of the little kids."  
  
But he couldn't beat someone who as a master at dishing negative verbal abuse. "Oh, gimme a break. You couldn't flame a meat patty at Burger King if you worked there, and I'm not too sure you don't."  
  
Tristan coughed slightly and looked down to the floor, having quickly lost the battle of words. There wouldn't have been anything he could have said that would have gotten the smug smirk off Tux's face anyway. Glenn and Bubba grinned at each other, still knowing noisy old Tuxedo Ral was just messing around with the kid, who unfortunately didn't seem to fully realize this, as he was now just sitting there, his face red with both embarrassment and a huffy attitude.  
  
"So, where's Rainey at?"  
  
Glenn's sudden question caught the attention of everyone at the table, causing him to soon look just as uncomfortable as the kid sitting next to him.  
  
"Why do you wanna know?" Tux said in the most sly, weasely voice any of them had ever heard in their lives.  
  
"It was just a question," the squad leader uttered, trying to refrain from glaring at the unmanageable pilot sitting across from him. "She and I are good friends."  
  
"Ri-i-i-ight."  
  
Tux was giving him the most dastardly grin now, and it made Glenn angry. Chafed, the Thunderbolt leader rose from his seat in pure turbulence, but quickly made for the soda machine as an excuse. He should have known better than to take Tuxedo's annoying commentary seriously. "Lordamighty, Tux, I don't like her like that, what's the matter with you? Romance between military folk is against regulations, if I recall correctly."  
  
He finally glared at Tux. "You know, you and Cass' need to learn that yourselves. Rainey has to come into our room every night because you go stumblin' into her's and Cassie's, drunk as a hyena and waking up all of Creation. The poor girl has to come over to my room every night to actually get some sleep."  
  
It was easy enough to tell that Tux wanted to blurt out the most obvious remark any of them could have come up with after Glenn finished with something like that, but for once, the Jester of the Thunderbolts kept his big mouth closed, knowing his squad leader wouldn't be terribly amused.  
  
Bubba finally spoke, offering his own observation on the subject of Glenn and Rainey Banker. "Well, Fishmouth here has point, Gordo'. I do see you with her, and quite often, might I add. Hell, you went off-base and had lunch with her yesterday."  
  
"See?" Tux crossed his arms. "Fat-head's seen you with her too. What's goin' on here, Glenn?"  
  
Glenn was ready to tell him to hush up, but then Tristan piped in, suddenly becoming aware of the conversation. "Yeah, Glenn, what's up with this?"  
  
The squadron leader finally broke, and like glass. "What goes on between her and I is none of your damned business, and I'd appreciate it if you noserubbers would quit gawking at the two of us to see what we were doing all the time. I assure you, nothing like that is happening, and nothing like that ever WILL happen. Rainey and I are merely good friends, and that's how it's going to stay."  
  
The three at the table said nothing, definitely knowing Glenn was seriously trying to tell them to shut up. A long silence ensued.  
  
"She is real purty though," Tux finally said, as quiet as was possible for him, which wasn't very quiet at all.  
  
Glenn just sighed.  
  
Before the conversation could start all over again, this time with Glenn grabbing Tux in a headlock, the door to the lounge flew open and one of the Washington Air Base's clerks burst in. He appeared to be in quite a tizzy. "Everyone, get to the briefing room, immediately!"  
  
Everyone stared at him.  
  
"What in hell for?" Bubba jerked a thumb towards the window and the heavy rainfall that was still occuring. "We're not going up in this weather, are we?"  
  
"Just get to the briefing room NOW, guys. I'm not kidding." The clerk sure didn't look as though he were kidding, that was obvious. "All pilots stationed here are ordered to do so IMMEDIATELY. Get going!"  
  
And he was gone. The four pilots just hesitated for a moment, trying to take a second to figure out for themselves what on Wars World could be so horribly important that all of them had to, as the clerk put it, 'get to the briefing room NOW.' Glenn personally figured it was some renegade Blue Mooner who'd gotten lost and had to be escorted back to wherever he had to go, but. . . If that were so, why would it be so imperative that they all get moving as soon as possible?  
  
Well, it would all be sorted out. Eventually, the four of them made for the said room, where all of the pilots stationed at Washington already sat boredly. Glenn took a seat and looked at the large table in the center of the room. Commander Beauregard was busy talking with a few people, one of whom Glenn recognized as one of Orange Star's military Advisors. What the heck was he doing here? What was so important?  
  
Beauregard finally stepped towards the podium to address the pilots. Finally, Glenn thought, we'll get some answers here.  
  
"I'll be frank," the Commander stated, his voice trying to sound bold yet coming off as being the bearer of ill news, "though I say so with great pity for us all."  
  
Glenn just blinked in confusion. What in blue blazes was happening? Was a tornado the size of Yellow Comet headed for Washington? Was Beauregard's cat missing again? Was a bearded lady with wings and tomahawk missiles for spit flying around in the sky? Gordon wished this to be over with already.  
  
"We've recieved word from the Orange Star capital that our region in Macro Land is under attack. It looks to be an all-out invasion of our portion of the continent."  
  
Blue Moon, Glenn immediately thought. But he would quickly realize that he and everyone else who were thinking the same were all wrong.  
  
"Eyewitness reports from troops in the region do not believe the attackers are of Blue Moon origin," Beauregard continued, "but are an unknown force, clad in black, metal armor and with technology reasonably similar yet superior to ours. The resources of the enemy thus far seem limitless."  
  
The Commander let this sink in to all of the pilots sitting in the room. Then he added what everyone feared.  
  
"The Commanding Officers and Advisors stationed on the front and in the capital have come to the conclusion that the attackers are of Black Hole allegiance."  
  
No one said anything. One or two looked to be on the verge of crying. Many more looked irate.  
  
Glenn didn't know what to think or feel. He hadn't been in combat against Black Hole in the first war between it and the countries, but some of the stories he'd inevitably heard about the rogue nation weren't overly pleasant. Rumors of the Black Hole leader being a brilliant, fearsome mastermind scraped at his memory along with tales of Black Hole forces themselves being tireless, relentless, and fully capable of bringing about God knows how much destruction, causing his stomach to quickly feel like the inside of a cement mixer.  
  
"The current situation looks rough. As I speak, Black Hole continues its invasion, and much of the region has fallen already. We don't know how long ago this all began, perhaps a matter of hours before this very moment. Right now, they've taken about half of the nation, having come mostly from the north. Currently, our forces are desperately trying to hold onto the south, but it doesn't look very positive.  
  
"We are to leave as soon as possible for the Macro continent. I want all of you to store anything personal of yours away in the basement lockers, and then get your gear all packed up. We'll have a transport jet waiting outside on the tarmac within thirty minutes. Be ready by then. Let's move!"  
  
Glenn did indeed move, but he felt like a robot while doing so. He was going to war again, this time with an enemy he didn't even know much about. He winced at the very thought. Glenn certainly knew how to fight, but he never looked forward to it. Anyone that did was either insane or a taint on the human race, as far as he was concerned. Who knew what was going to happen now?  
  
He realized just how big this was. He and the seven other pilots in his squadron were going to assist in an attempt to save Orange Star if not the world from brutal alien rule. There was no way to describe how his heart felt as he thought that. One thing was certain: he felt positively miserable.  
  
Within thirty minutes, Glenn was ready to go. The baggage pack issued to him by the air base carried his flight gear, other equipment, and one or two personal belongings, including a small, silver necklace with the Cross on it. It had been given to him by Dario Yossarian when Glenn had been in the Green Earth Air Force, and while Glenn had never given such things much thought, he still felt the necklace gave him good luck in the air. Besides, one couldn't go wrong when they had Someone upstairs watching out for them.  
  
He slipped on his military cap and headed out a pair of doors, out onto the very open and now wet area that was the tarmac takeoff-landing scene. The transport jet was already there, waiting for them, and Beauregard and a few other officials stood by it, impatiently awaiting all of the pilots stationed at Washington to get their butts in gear. Glenn quickly noticed he hadn't been the first out the doors. He spied Rainey Banker and Marcus Madison standing there already, looking just as strained and ill-at-ease as Glenn.  
  
The squad leader stepped up to the jet and stood next to the lot of them, recieving salutes from Rainey and Marcus on sight. He returned the gesture and stood in line next to them, waiting for the mobile staircase to arrive so they could get on the plane.  
  
Eventually, everyone was there, ready and waiting. The staircase was pushed up towards the now-opened door, and those in line proceeded to ascend them, their gait less-than-ecstatic. Glenn was on-board soon enough, and sat in one of the plane's rough, uncomfortable seats near the front.  
  
He carefully watched everyone else board the plane and move past him in the aisle, eyeing their faces to see if they looked as dejected as he did. Most of them did, except for Crazy Bob, the basic loony of the Washington pilots. Glenn found most of their expressions quite similar to his own, or how he felt he looked, anyway. Going off and leaving everything one loves and owns behind to go fight a war wasn't the happiest of feelings. He could see where the feelings came from: he'd had to leave his home in Green Earth to go and fight the Blue Mooners - and even the Orange Stars, at one point, when old Eagle felt Commanding Officer Andy of the Stars was to blame for the attacks on the country at that time. Glenn did indeed know how most of them felt.  
  
But before he could begin feeling any more depressed than already, Rainey took the middle seat, sitting down next to him. She tried to give him a smile, but wasn't very successful. "Hey."  
  
"Mm," he mumbled in response, looking out the less-than-spacious window at the rain.  
  
They could feel the plane begin to power up. No one said anything.  
  
Finally, when they began to taxi onto the runway, Rainey put a hand on his. "Everything's gonna be okay."  
  
Glenn's gaze didn't falter from the window even the slightest as they felt the plane lurched up into the air. "I hope so."  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Please don't kill me. I know it's been a while. Well, okay, more than a while. My interest in this story did indeed fall, especially when more video games than I'm worth came out and grabbed my attention (all at ill- positioned intervals, keeping me from coming back to this). But I've been thinking that Glenn deserves a better fate than to be left hanging in the middle of some lamely-unfinished fic, lost in the middle of fanfiction.net, so here's another chapter, despite the fact I haven't even played or gotten AW2 yet. I will within the next two weeks, more than likely, considering I NEED it to actually know where I'm going with this thing. Don't worry - this thing WILL be updated again sooner or later. I really don't want to leave it unfinished like so many of my other stories. In any case, thanks for reading, and I do hope you'll "R" since you've already "R"ed. You know. "R+R". Get it? ... ... Ah, hell... 


	6. A Not So Friendly Welcoming

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Six: A Not-so-friendly Welcoming~  
  
~----~  
  
Colonel Riskaa swallowed uncomfortably as he ran his hands through his graying, thinning hair. Reports of Black Hole troops spotted in Blue Moon territory were sending shivers down his spine and throwing his stomach into loops. How could he be so unlucky? Would he have to fight against those Black Hole bastards another time? Hadn't they learned their lesson? He'd nearly lost his family against them in the first war, and now that risk was coming back to haunt him. The Colonel couldn't conjure up any worse thought.  
  
He growled, looking out the window, feeling as miserable as he'd felt when the first war had taking a direction towards Black Hole territory. Fighting an enemy they knew little to nothing about wasn't something he terribly looked forward to. He could deal with these Orange Star or Green Earth flies, perhaps even those Yellow Comet weirdos, but Black Hole was apparently not of this planet. Just the thought gave him chills.  
  
Riskaa could only pray to himself that the reports of troops were false. The same would hopefully be said for the reports coming in from spies in Orange Star's capital that the country was being invaded. Such reports came in all the time, usually because that idiotic Commanding Officer of theirs, Andy, was far too hyperactive and inane for his own good. Every time a gun or noisemaker went off anywhere within the notable vicinity, Andy would come to the conclusion that the country was being invaded, usually claiming Blue Moon was to blame for such nonsense. It had been especially bad this last year on the annual day the country was formed, when all those fireworks went off. . . It wasn't hard for anyone to tell that Riskaa seriously loathed Andy whenever he spoke of him.  
  
One of Riskaa's aides suddenly entered his creaky old office at the air base he was stationed at in Blue Moon, causing him to groan ever so slightly. "What is it, comrade?"  
  
"Sir," the aide stuttered, his face puzzled, "I can't locate Captain Boldigh."  
  
Riskaa's face became equally confused. "What do you mean, you can't find him? He must be here somewhere. Check the showers."  
  
"We've already searched the base. He's nowhere to be found, and the same can be said for Zodo Gallow and the rest of the squadron."  
  
"WHAT!?" Riskaa jumped out of his seat. "Did you check absolutely everywhere? Did you check with the guards at the gates? Maybe they left to go into town."  
  
The aide shook his head. "We checked with everyone, sir. They're gone."  
  
The Colonel stood there a moment, his mind rushing through a hundred possible explanations, trying to get a bead on exactly what was going on here with Kailaff Boldigh and his renegade crew. The last thing he really needed at a time like this was for his best squadron to go off on some damn foolish outing when war could start at any moment. What was Boldigh thinking? And on top of that, where the hell was he?  
  
"What about the squadron craft themselves? Are they still here?" It was a question he'd hoped he wouldn't have had to ask.  
  
"No, sir," the aide blurted, "the squadron's aircraft are no longer here."  
  
Riskaa groaned and slumped back into his seat. "Well, why didn't you say so, you bleeding idiot? They're just on patrol or something. Go check with Flight Commander Lenin."  
  
The aide's expression sagged as he put his hands together sadly. "I did, sir. Commander Lenin says no flights for the squadron are scheduled today, nor were any orders recieved to even send the squadron up into the air at all, for anything."  
  
Colonel Riskaa sat there, hesitating, thinking. Slowly, he got back up out of the chair, realizing just how serious the situation had become.  
  
A uniformed official suddenly burst in through the door, nearly toppling the poor aide standing next to it. "Sir! The capital in the Macro region reports it is taking heavy fire from aerial units! Ground forces have been spotted outside the city!"  
  
Riskaa could only stand there and shake his head after letting the information sink in. He gazed out the window a moment. "Here we go again."  
  
--------  
  
It was nighttime when the transport plane carrying the Washington Air Base pilots began to near the shores of the Macro region.  
  
Glenn had tried his best to fall asleep, but the chair he sat in was uncomfortable beyond all belief, and besides, how could he sleep knowing he was going to war again? He glanced to his left at Rainey Banker, who calmly sat there, sleeping soundly. Glenn couldn't help but envy her slightly, wishing he could be doing the same. Oh well, he'd probably be able to get some sleep at the base they arrived at. Wherever the base was. They hadn't been informed at all of where they were specifically headed. All they'd been told was that they were going to Macro. Hell, Gordon had never been to Macro, nor did he really know about it at all. He simply knew that all of the countries in the Cosmo region had land here for themselves.  
  
He sighed slightly, gazing out the window miserably. His stomach growled aggravatedly, asking Glenn for some food, but the pilot's brain told the stomach to hush up quickly. Glenn agreed with the smarter portion of his body. He felt far too depressed to even bother thinking about food or eating.  
  
At least he was here with friends. Like he'd told himself a long time ago, if he watched out for these people, they'd watch out for him. It was still a good exchange.  
  
Muscles bunched at the corners of Glenn's jaw as he ground his teeth. If anything, nervousness was beginning to combat the depression he felt. He began to grow slightly worried that he may not come back from this war. Heck, he'd barely come back from the last one, and most of his combat had been against Blue Moon. If anything, these Black Hole guys would know what they were doing now that they'd been in action against all of the countries - combined. Things were about to get a whole lot harder, obviously. This realization only made Glenn feel worse than already.  
  
I've gotta cheer up, he thought. No one likes going to war, but Eagle and Drake didn't go moping around when that first one started. Why can't I be the same way? Things will be fine.  
  
Somehow, he couldn't quite believe himself just yet.  
  
Rainey began to stir in her seat. Glenn was about to greet her and say something, but a small flash of light outside the plane caught the corner of his right eye. Slowly, his head turned and looked out the porthole of the transport jet, looking for what the source of it had been. Was it storming? It had probably just been lightning. Tux probably wouldn't like that, and Glenn wouldn't have disagreed. The former Green Earth pilot did indeed like such weather, but not when he was right in the middle of it.  
  
Immediately he realized that the flash of yellowish light he'd seen had not been weather-related. Streaks of yellow shot up at the sky from the ground. Obviously, they were no longer over the ocean but were nearing the Macro region. It looked to be anti-air units firing up at something, since the powerful, streaking bullets were clearly visible in the night, but who was firing? And what at?  
  
"Uh oh," he murmured, drawing enough attention from Rainey to worry her.  
  
"What's the matter?" She still sounded sleepy, but her eyes were quite wide.  
  
Something was VERY wrong now. The bullets were coming faster and more often now, and it was painfully easy to tell that some of whatever was on the ground was aiming for the transport plane carrying the Washington pilots.  
  
Before Glenn could really even think about this, the plane lurched to the side, throwing everyone on-board into the opposite sides of their seats. It wasn't the best wake-up call for some of the pilots, but it worked, despite the fact the purpose of the sudden turn hadn't necessarily been to wake everyone up from near-restless slumber.  
  
"The hell's goin' on!?" Tuxedo's voice was clearly heard above the rest of the sudden onslaught of gibberish and jabbering.  
  
Beauregard came out of the cockpit area and glared at them all, holding onto the sides of the small doorway to keep himself steady. It didn't seem to help much. "Everyone, wake your asses up! Someone get to the rear of the plane and man the guns back there!"  
  
Everyone just stared at him as though he were talking like a flakey Yellow Cometer.  
  
"Did you hear me!?" Beauregard growled loudly, and just pointed at Gordon. "Lieutenant, get back to the rear of the craft and take control of the twin-guns mounted back there. You too, Boggs! Get to the one of the other side of Glenn's!"  
  
Glenn, at the moment, really didn't feel the need to question why Beauregard wanted Bubba and he back there all of a sudden. Perhaps it was because he felt they were the most trustworthy of folk in the squadron, or maybe he just didn't care who went back there, as long as someone was manning the guns. If that were the case, then the situation was probably worse than Glenn had originally hypothesized. Whatever the case, an intense sense of urgency overcame him, and he jumped out of the seat - which he was thankful for, since he felt as though he were getting saddlesore from the damned thing - and raced towards the back of the plane.  
  
The race between he and Bubba down the narrow, confining aisle of the transporter lasted only seconds. Glenn's adrenaline was going fast now - The plane was yawning this way and that way, every porthole he could catch out the corners of his eyes flashed repeatedly with yellow light and bare glimpses of the bullet streaks outside, but if anything had him going, it was the hideously loud crashing-boom sounds of flak being fired at them from the ground. Moving faster than he could think, he reached the large twin-guns mounted near the back of the craft with the giant viewport giving him an even better eyesight as to what exactly was going on.  
  
"Well," he heard Bubba say, "what are we supposed to do now?"  
  
Glenn successfully ignored him. There had been a reason Beauregard had sent the two of them back here, and he was keeping an eye out, hoping to find out what that reason was before it shot the lot of them out of the sky.  
  
Even though it was nighttime, Glenn could still see what was going on down on the ground fairly well from the flashes that the anti-air units gave off when firing - And he realized that accompanying those flashes were those of explosions, a downpour of ground-and-air-based gunfire, and the red & blue lights of emergency vehicles all around the area. He strained his eyes further, trying to get a better bead on everything that was going on down there.  
  
If he wasn't mistaken, he clearly thought he could see the flashes illuminating off the many outer hulls of air units. Battle copters, if he were correct. But they didn't look orange, as he'd first automatically unconciously presumed they'd been. Their hulls seemed to shine with a metal finish, as though they were made of some alloy that whoever had constructed them need not fear of much damage to whatever it was.  
  
More flashes illuminated the ground. It was clear now that the combat forces farther inland to the shore with the anti-air units in particular were more orange in color. "Oh, you've gotta be kiddin' me."  
  
Bubba turned around. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Those damned friggin' morons," the Thunderbolt squadron leader growled, trying to contain his true anger towards the situation, "think we're the enemy! That's Orange Star down there firing at us!"  
  
"Oh!" Bubba groaned and turned back to continue gazing out his own large viewport. "Wonderful."  
  
If Orange Star were the ones firing at them, then Glenn automatically came to the assumption that it was Black Hole with those battle copters he'd seen. His first-ever glimpse of a Black Hole unit and perhaps his last. Somehow, he didn't quite feel as though he deserved a medal at the moment.  
  
"Glenn," he heard Bubba mumble, "what are these three flashbats doing?"  
  
Glenn turned around to glance out Bubba's viewport, the one opposite to his own. "What are you talkin' ab-"  
  
Three of the enemy battle helicopters had broken off from the main attack and were currently closing to within range of the transport plane. The two Orange Star pilots watched them race past the transporter parallel to it, and they began to circle around to try to get on its tail.  
  
So this was the 'reason.' "Bubba, get ready! They're comin' around on us!"  
  
He turned and yelled towards the front of the craft. "Hey, get ready to do some tight turns, here!"  
  
The sight of Beauregard groaning and informing the transporter's pilot of their new situation didn't bring much hope to Glenn, nor Bubba. Well, Glenn thought, might as well get this over with. "Be careful, Bubs."  
  
"You too, Gordo'." Bubba turned the large, imposing machinery he manned in the direction of the battle copters now pursuing them. Glenn proceeded to imitate the move, hesitating, waiting for them to get in range. His carefully trained eye and experience both told his brain when and where to fire, a trait poor Bubba probably didn't have the leisure of having. Glenn simply had more air experience, that was all. That and Gordon didn't think Bubba had the best of eyesight, either. But even, Heaven forbid, if the big man was blind in both eyes and was as smart as a box of rocks, Glenn knew he would be able to count on him for help, wherever and whenever.  
  
It was only a matter of seconds before one of the Black Hole battle copters drew within range of the two twin-guns of Glenn Gordon and Bubba Boggs.  
  
Glenn opened fire immediately, prodding Bubba to do the same. The heavy, powerful streaks of yellowish-orange bullets shot off from the transport plane's two gunning locations, soaring back towards the flock of battle copters pursuing them. The lead copter duked to Glenn's left and appeared to hesitate there to the Orange Star pilot while the other two returned the gesture. Some of their gunfire missed the transport plane by mere feet.  
  
Swiveling the giant firearm mechanism, Glenn took aim towards the two copters bunched closley together, both still firing at the transport plane. Pressing the large dual triggers on the gun, more yellow streaks shot out from their large, blundering aircraft towards the copters. The enemy craft's gunfire ceased and both were sent into a tizzy from which they had to recover.  
  
More gunfire came at them, this time from the lead enemy chopper. Glenn felt his stomach pitch as the transport plane lurched to its side after the pilot had seen the bright, powerful gunfire flying past the canopy and off into the distance. Bubba was still carrying on the lightfight between he and another copter where Glenn couldn't aim at from his side. Gordon couldn't help but wonder if Bubba was affected at all by the horrendous gravity forces or not.  
  
Glenn allowed himself to relax slightly as the plane turned and was rewarded by having his body shoved towards his side of the curved hull with a painfully loud bang. "G'ah!"  
  
His moment of weakness allowed the lead copter to get away with firing another batch of bullets toward them, and some of these made contact. The "PING" sound of bullets hitting the outer hull of a plane was unmistakable - Glenn would never forget it after having been shot down himself during his Green Earth campaign. "We've taken some damage back here!"  
  
Thankfully, the bullets hadn't penetrated the hull. If that had happened, Glenn thought, we could basically say goodbye to any air pressure in here, along with our lives.  
  
He watched as the lead copter continued to annoy them like a fly bugging a cat, eyeing it as it duked back and forth, trying to goad Glenn into firing at it and catching him off-guard. Gordon only hesitated, waiting for the copter to settle down slightly before firing again. The chopper couldn't very well hit its target while it was whiffing this way and that way, and Glenn realized this. He'd wait.  
  
The wait didn't last long. The enemy chopper's erratic movements slowed ever so slightly, and Glenn took no longer of a break. More gunfire tore from the twin-guns towards the aircraft, this time more than one bullet making contact with its intended target.  
  
With the enemy craft slowed as it was, there was no missing his target. Even though he didn't stop firing, he could clearly see the ominous front of the battle chopper shatter like a watermelon, destroyed casing pieces spraying out every which way as one of the twin engines shred up and blew apart. The copter began an unstoppable, jagged spin towards the dirt. It would seem Glenn wouldn't have to worry about those things being impenetrable. "Hah-hah!"  
  
Bubba had not yet been able to take care of either of the gnats behind the transporter. Glenn looked out the other viewport and noticed his fellow pilot was trying to concentrate on both of them at the same time. "Bub', you have to concentrate on ONE of them! Choose the closest one!"  
  
"But, damn, Glenn, they just keep switchin' positions. I'm gettin' dizzy- headed just tryin' to keep up with 'em!" Bubba didn't cease firing even as he spoke, making it nearly impossible to hear him. Glenn didn't bother trying to hear whatever excuse the man had. He'd have to take care of those two himself, if need be.  
  
Again, the transporter lofted to one side, nearly throwing Glenn off his feet. "Damn it!"  
  
Bubba snapped off more shots at the pursuing choppers, spreading them farther from each other, and allowed one of them to get within Glenn's sights. The Thunderbolt squadron leader fired almost as soon as the enemy copter had come within firing range, but he was still off balance slightly from the heavy turn the transport plane was in. None of the shots he'd fired made contact, nor did any even come within remote vicinity of hitting the copter, causing him to feel a half-second-long wave of embarrassment.  
  
He pumped more shots out, this time towards the bottom of the enemy craft, trying to goad it into getting more into his line of fire. The chopper barely even nudged from its position. "Come on!"  
  
Glenn wave towards his gunmate. "Bubba, fire at this one!"  
  
Without any hesitation, Boggs did so without remorse, prodding the enemy chopper more within Glenn's line of fire. While the current, lurching motion the plane was in meant he didn't have a flame's chance of hitting anything as far away as Glenn's intended target, he knew what the squadron's flight leader was trying to accomplish here. Within only two seconds the chopper had juked back right into open range of Glenn's mounted twin-guns.  
  
The Thunderbolt flight leader sent mountains of bright, powerful gunfire towards the enemy copter, causing its pilot to shove forward on the controls and send it into a plunge to evade the deadly ammunition. Glenn anticipated this, and moved the large, twin-gun mechanism ever so slightly forward, causing his aim to follow where the Black Hole chopper had dropped with intense speed. The gunfire from the twin-guns became a constant blur as long, bright-yellow arms tried to reach out and slap the enemy battle copter from above.  
  
The enemy chopper began to try to twist out of the path of the gunfire, but its turn caused its rear end to come around. The rear rotor and upper wing shredded and shattered as though the bullets were hitting a combination of paper and ice, and this sent the copter into an even worse spin than its pilot had intended for it. Within seconds, the copter was plummeting towards the ground to join whatever was left of its comrade.  
  
The final copter apparently decided it had had enough of playing around and began to open fire on the transporter without even taking care to preciously aim correctly. "Get him, Bubba!"  
  
Glenn's head swiveled towards Bubba's viewport, but his eyes went towards the wing of the craft, quickly being shred as though a chainsaw were being taken to it. "Come on!"  
  
Bubba wouldn't even have to fire. The enemy battle helicopter suddenly exploded in a bright flash of red, and its firey remains began to slowly fall out of the sky. Glenn spied a few large streaks of bright yellow shooting up past the wreckage just as it combusted, and he allowed himself to at least smirk. "I guess those guys on the ground figured out what they were doing."  
  
"Yeah," Bubba muttered, though his voice showed he didn't believe Glenn, nor did his eyes which continued to gaze down at the ground to make sure the anti-air units didn't pull something funny out of their rears and try and shoot down the transporter again.  
  
Glenn ignored him and began to make for the front of the craft. He tried to single out on concentrating on Beauregard, but he couldn't help but look at everyone to see how they were doing. Most of them looked scared to death, especially Tristan Royal, the poor kid. Glenn could see where their fear came from --He'd personally rather be in control of a swinging, weaving plane being fired upon, too. "We're clear back here, Commander."  
  
Beauregard seemed to settle down slightly, his hand over his heart. "Phew. Good, good job, Gordon, Boggs. I'd prefer if you kept back there for the time being, though, since a few more of those flies could come back at any minute."  
  
Glenn personally didn't feel that was necessary, since the pleasantly bright little show they'd put on had probably deterred any other Black Hole craft from coming up and trying to get at them, but even still, he obliged with the request from his Commander, just for the sake of making the older fellow feel better about the situation.  
  
"How's that wing looking?" Glenn stopped by Marcus Madison, who sat next to the viewport directly next to the wing that concenred the flight leader.  
  
"Well, it looks like it got hit with a grenade, but it's doing alright. It should last us a flight to wherever we're going and back again." Marcus seemed especially cool, despite what had just occured. Too bad the same couldn't be said for alot of the other pilots, most of whom Glenn didn't recognize as being in his squadron. He couldn't help but wonder if some of these boys and girls in the new squadrons from Washington were nothing but greenies. If they were enlisting people as young as these, then this Black Hole situation must be worse than it looked.  
  
And from what Glenn had just seen, it had looked quite bad.  
  
He stepped back towards the rear of the craft towards where Bubba now sat on the dusty floor, and stopped next to the large twin-guns. The battle still seemed to be going on as badly as before, but it was occuring behind them. Inky blackness coated the ground up ahead and to the sides of the transporter. "Looks like we're in the clear."  
  
"I hope so," Bubba muttered. "I don't want to have to go through that again tonight. I ain't slept all day."  
  
Glenn rolled his eyes. "You know, most people sleep at night rather than during the day."  
  
"I," Bubba reasoned, "like to sleep during both. Sue me."  
  
The flight leader just shook his head and looked back out the viewport towards the combat and all the flashes of war. He was truly glad he wasn't down there at the moment. Being up here in the sky was the place to be; that was how he liked it and that was how it would stay.  
  
Then he smiled, looking at the grumpy man sitting on the floor near him. "It's been a while since he had a good victory like that. At least this is one victory we can have without having to toast dead comrades, and I, for one, like the change."  
  
Bubba finally smiled. "You 'n' me both. What do you say we keep it this way?"  
  
Glenn returned the expression fully. "Fair enough."  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Nothing much to say here. I would, however, like to thank Dr. Bross for all his support. No matter what anyone says, around here on fanfiction.net, it's the reviews that keep a writer going. "Oh boy, a new review." You know the feeling. It's like getting candy. Anyway, thanks for reading, and any "R's" are appreciated. 


	7. Macro Arrival

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Seven: Macro Arrival~  
  
~----~  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
Rainey's question snapped Glenn back into focus of the area around him. He realized he'd been daydreaming, mostly about his days in the Green Earth air force. The faces of Dario Yossarian, Clay Shamrock, and all those other fellows. . . They'd consumed his mind for who knew how long. Glenn was quickly thankful to be back within reality. Dwelling on the past wasn't one of his many habits as of late, nor did he particularly enjoy doing so, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.  
  
He looked at her and smiled as best he could, not being terribly successful. "Yeah, for the most part. How about you?"  
  
"I'm fine," she uttered, though Glenn could clearly tell she was still a little shaken from the attack that had come from the Black Hole battle copters maybe two hours earlier. Glenn had to admit - He was still a little roughed up mentally from it himself, although he'd been in worse situations. Perhaps it was just because he'd never fought Black Hole before.  
  
Scratching the back of his ear for no other reason than to attract attention from her, his gaze on her tightened. "You don't seem fine."  
  
Rainey sighed. "It's just that we haven't been in combat for a time. I fear I may be losing whatever composure and competence I may have had."  
  
"I see. Try not to worry about it." Glenn didn't look away from her, trying to let her understand that she was safe now.  
  
It seemed to work. She returned the smile he gave her, but then looked curious. "How is it you can be so cool during something like that?"  
  
Glenn personally felt he hadn't stayed very cool at all when he'd gone and manned the twin-guns on the back of the transport plane they flew in, but he sensed a hint of envy in her voice. He quickly thought up a reason to give her, and one that wasn't totally untrue.  
  
"I've been in battle alot as of late," he mumbled, looking off in the direction of Tuxedo, who sat blabbing to old Bubba about random nonsensical things Glenn would never understand in a blue million years. Not that he'd want to. "Why did you join the air force, anyway?"  
  
She blinked repeatedly, apparently not understanding whether the question was supposed to be positive or negative. Some of her warmth left her voice. "Does it make a difference?"  
  
Glenn's expression drained, and he suddenly felt rather idiotic. "I didn't mean it that way, I was just wondering."  
  
The blonde pilot smiled again. She was obviously toying with Glenn, and he felt strangely relieved as her eyes met his again. "I know."  
  
She then looked away from him, gazing mostly at the crudely-carpeted floor now as she clicked her heels together out of boredom, or perhaps slight nervousness. Her brown eyes narrowed slightly.  
  
"I hope we come back from this."  
  
What she said caught Glenn a little off-guard. He hesitated, his eyes moving back to hers, but he couldn't think of much to say. He'd never had much luck with girls, as he'd always been too busy for dating or some such nonsense, and he found talking to members of the opposite sex a little unnerving at times, even if he were conversing with someone as open and pleasant as Rainey. He wondered to himself why he was getting a little flustered all of a sudden.  
  
He finally opened his mouth. "Me too."  
  
For what must have been the fourth time during the flight, Rainey put her hand on his.  
  
They felt the transport plane swivel ever so slightly as it began an approach towards their destination. Glenn reluctantly let his eyes leave Rainey's and looked out the small window they sat next to. The ground was completely black, and the same could be said for the sky. He felt as though he were flying through a black hole -- which wouldn't have been as bad as flying through Black Hole-controlled territory.  
  
But then, he could see the long line of flashing lights on each side of a airport's runway. They flashed vividly in the night, which Glenn found rather uncomforting. Great, he thought, show Black Hole right where you are, why don't you? "Looks like we're here."  
  
Rainey looked past him and recieved the same view. "Finally."  
  
The transport plane lurched forward slightly, then backwards as it neared the runway. With a screech of the landing tires as they made contact with the pavement, they felt themselves hit ground instantly. Glenn found himself again feeling relieved. He was glad to finally be able to get out of the transporter - He didn't particularly enjoy being in a plane he wasn't in control of.  
  
Soon enough, all the pilots who had been stationed at Washington stood on official Macro land. Glenn examined the airport. The base was completely surrounded by the blackness of night, and only a few large tower-lights lit up where they could go at the moment. It looked as though much of the base were closed off, for the time being.  
  
They'll probably be needing to get our planes here before we can go exploring, Glenn thought. That made enough sense for the moment. They'd have to be brought to Macro on naval carriers, since none of them had enough fuel to make it from one continent to the other.  
  
George Beauregard stepped off the transport plane, and placing his hands on his hips, eyed the lot of them.  
  
"Welcome to Reagan Air Force Base. I'll show you to the pilot's wing. Your names are labeled on the outside of your rooms, so it should be easy to find them. You'll have the same roommates that you had at Washington, so don't worry about making new friends." He waved towards the base's large command center. "Let's go, before we waste any more time standing around here like morons. I'd imagine you all are pretty tired."  
  
All of them, except for Bubba, seemed in general agreement. They proceeded to plod along behind Beauregard off the runway and towards the base's large, swinging doors.  
  
Along the way, Beauregard informed them of the current situation. "I'd rather show you a map of the area so you can get your bearings easier, but there's no time for that right now. You all have to get up early, after all."  
  
I'm so looking forward to that, Glenn silently mouthed.  
  
"I suppose the closest city is Krasst, maybe thirty miles from here." Beauregard sighed. "We'd be closer to it, since it's an excellent resource, but. . . It's been occupied by Black Hole, completely."  
  
Some of the pilots' expressions went more than a little shocked. Krasst was probably the fifth largest city in the Orange Star's Macro region. How could it be so easily taken? Was Black Hole really this large and tactical a force?  
  
"Right now," the Commander continued, "our troops in this region of Macro are mobilizing to re-take Krasst."  
  
Glenn and the pilots didn't need to hear what Beauregard said next to realize it. "Some of you are probably going to become a part of the Krasst operation. It's imperative that we re-take the city. If we can drive Black Hole from it, then we'll gain huge momentum in this war, not only in resources but in troop spirit as well."  
  
Glenn didn't believe him about the spirit part. Black Hole wouldn't give up so easily. He was sure of it, even though he'd personally never been in combat against them. He knew that Black Hole troops were tireless and relentless, and their Commanding Officers were stubborn and brutal. On the flight to the Reagan air base, Beauregard had informed the passengers that the enemy Commanding Officer attempting to claim the Orange Star region was known simply as Flak. They had no information of the man yet, but if he were as combat-worthy as his troops, then the Orange Star forces - and Glenn - had alot of work ahead of them.  
  
They entered the base and made down one of the many large hallways. "Alright, we're here. Find your designated quarters and get some rest."  
  
The pilots reluctantly began to sort themselves out, but just before releasing them, Beauregard turned to one in particular, angrily snapping at him. "Ral!"  
  
Tuxedo's shoulders hunched up and his expression dropped sadly. "Sir?"  
  
"Try to refrain from staying up into the wee hours like you always do." An almost evil smile crept into the corners of Beauregard's mouth. "You've got quite alot of work tomorrow, and when I say you, I mean you."  
  
Then he walked away. Tux sighed and crossed his arms. "Ah, ma-a-a-an. He's probably gonna make me clean the commodes here or something. Why do I always get the short end of the stick?"  
  
Glenn slapped his wing-mate on his back as they began to walk towards their quarters. "Don't worry - I'll petition for you to clean up garbage outside, that's all."  
  
"Gee," Tux grumbled, "thanks."  
  
---  
  
Morning came too soon for Glenn. He'd been awake since four, having not been able to sleep as much as he'd have liked. Tux layed in the bed opposite his, snoring like a car engine, but that hadn't been why Glenn couldn't get much sleep.  
  
Too much had been on his mind. Black Hole, his home, himself, and his future. But then it had started to center on Rainey. The same situation had come unto him during many of the previous nights as well. He tried to force himself to block her and his problems out of his mind, but he couldn't help but dwell on all sorts of things at once - Mostly Rainey.  
  
He'd gotten to know her better than he had originally wanted to. And it didn't help that everytime he was seen with her, Tux and Bubba would coo him as though he were some ignorant little boy with a crush on the local school hottie, and at times it drove Glenn up the wall. Willfully turning his admiration for her into affection would only bring more of their ridiculous, undesired banter. Besides, like he himself had told them, romance between two military folk was against regulations - possibly the law. Glenn held no higher value than justice, and he was an avid follower of the law. Justice came before everything.  
  
But he couldn't deny the truth. He was starting to become better friends with Rainey, and it was doing something to him. He wouldn't have admitted it even to himself, though.  
  
An absolutely earth-shattering noise suddenly encased the entire base. A positively hideous-sounding siren.  
  
Tux nearly flew to the ceiling with a terrified yell. "WHAT THE HELL!?"  
  
Glenn was already covering his ears, one eye tightly shut as he angrily glared towards the large, red device in the top corner of their quarters. Even with his ears closed and with the terribly loud siren, he could hear the same noise emanating from other rooms.  
  
Suddenly, as soon as it had began, the annoying siren cut off. Already, Glenn could hear Beauregard outside in the hall. And if he weren't mistaken, from the sound of the older man's voice, he was using a loudspeaker. "Alright, everyone, wake up! Get moving! We've got alot of work to do this morning alone!"  
  
Tux, now nearly looking drugged, leaned over the side of his bed tiredly. "Ohhh, crap."  
  
Glenn sighed. That hadn't exactly been the wake-up call that was the trumpet sounding at six in the morning when they'd been at Washington. He nearly followed suit with his roommate. "Ahhh, crap."  
  
"Ral!" Tux fell right out of the bed when Beauregard yelled his name directly at their door over the loudspeaker. "Get your slow, lazy butt moving! I don't have to see you to know you're lying around like a bum on a park bench!"  
  
Gordon ignored his roommate and jumped out of the bed towards the locker situated by a wall. Throwing his respective one open, he grabbed at the orange-hued camoflauge uniform all pilots had to wear when on-and-off base, along with the similarly-colored army cap and black military boots. In thirty seconds - mostly because Beauregard was barking at the pilots to get moving - he was fully dressed in the uniform.  
  
The same couldn't be said for Tuxedo, who was too busy whining about how tired he was. He also hadn't yet budged from his new and very uncomfortable-looking position on the floor, in a heap with his bed sheets all around him.  
  
Glenn glared at him. "Come on, man! Don't tick off the Commander on the first day here. He WILL make you clean the commodes if you keep slackin' around like that."  
  
Tux beat Glenn's dressing time by fifteen seconds.  
  
Soon, all of the squadron pilots, including the Thunderbolts, stood outside in the hallway, in what was not necessarily the most straight line Beauregard had ever seen. He glared at them. "Listen up. The naval ships carrying the fighters should be arriving sometime tonight at the port south of here, so until then, we'll have to make-do with most of you flying in the simulations for today. I have a little mission in-store from a few of you, however."  
  
Glenn glanced at Tux. Toilet fun-time.  
  
"Ral, I need you to take a bi-plane and scan out the area from here to Krasst."  
  
Tux nearly swallowed his lungs. "What -- sir?"  
  
"Did I stutter?" Beauregard's glare intensified.  
  
The co-flight leader of the Thunderbolts nearly stammered his sentences. "You want me to take a crappy old plane from the days when movies were on paper and fly it into what is probably enemy territory, all the while risking being shot down by BLACK HOLE forces!?"  
  
Beauregard nodded. "Mm-hmm."  
  
Tux threw his arms in the air. "What're ya gonna do after they kill me!?"  
  
"Don't worry, the plane can't really go more than a thousand feet in the air, so you'll probably survive the fall." The Commander looked at the rest of them while Tux proceed to suffer uncontrollable muscle spasms. "It's safe to say that Krasst is going to be the center of your first assignment, squadrons. We'll have plans for the operation by tonight, provided Mr. Ral doesn't come back in a wagon full of ash, so until then, make-do with simulations. The sim room is down the hall and to the right. You may choose whatever scenario you wish. Dismissed."  
  
He gestured to Tux, who didn't seem to be taking his orders very well. "Ral, follow me."  
  
Glenn stood there a moment by a window to watch the scene unfold. Beauregard led Tux out a doorway near the hall and headed directly out to a small runway used for small, personal planes. Positioned there was a beat- up old crop duster that looked as though it could fall apart any moment even just sitting there inanimate.  
  
Tux stared at it. Glenn could clearly hear the loudmouth even when one was inside and the other was outside. "Sir, no offense, but you've got to be Bee-Essing me here."  
  
Beauregard handed the pilot a ragged leather flight cap and a pair of goggles. "Relax. If you fly over any enemy troops, you can dose them with water or something. And don't scratch the paintjob, because we had to buy it from a local farmer and if you crash it, it'll come out of your pay."  
  
Glenn decided it was best to stop watching the scene when Tux began to thrash uncontrollably as the Commander walked away from him. The Thunderbolt flight leader began to walk down the hall towards where Beauregard had told them the sim room was, but he was stopped by Bubba Boggs and Tristan Royal. "Hey, Glenn."  
  
The more experienced pilot nodded to the both of them. "Good morning. Are you two lost or something? We need to go to the sim room."  
  
It was clear that they wanted to bug him over something, and Glenn suspected he knew of what. Bubba made this presumption into a fact. "Tristan says he saw you holdin' hands with Rainey on the plane last night. Four times, he counted."  
  
A mumble came from Tristan, who turned his face once Glenn glared at him. The kid probably wished Bubba hadn't have said anything, but Bubba Boggs' mouth rivaled Tux's for being the one someone could fit a house in.  
  
"So what? Is it any of either of your businesses, anyway?" Gordon's angry look softened slightly. "She and I are just good friends, that's all, I swear."  
  
Glenn's voice no doubt gave away that he wasn't totally confident of the words coming out of his mouth. Tristan paused and crossed his arms, seeming genuinely concerned for a moment. "Are you sure?"  
  
"Yeah," Bubba commented, "you talked with her alot on the plane. You and her were really the only ones talking, although that bigmouth out yonder trying to crank-start that old plane there was doing some loud talking himself. I couldn't really hear alot of what you were saying, but you even asked her why she got into the air force."  
  
That really got Glenn going. "What gives you the right to listen to our conversation? Who the hell died and made you the king of gossip?"  
  
"Err-" Bubba stammered, but couldn't very well take back what he'd said.  
  
"Why are you so interested in it, anyway? Don't you have a girlfriend back in Cosmo? Aren't there girls you're just friends with? What in blue blazes is so damn interesting about Rainey and I? What?"  
  
Bubba finally broke. "Well, it's just that everyone in the squadron thinks that you and her make a cute couple."  
  
Glenn stood there, unable to believe his own ears. He gave Bubba the sourest expression he could muster. "What? EVERYONE in the squadron!? You mean you and that idiot Tux have been blabbing to every known soul around here about me 'n' Rainey!?"  
  
The other pilot coughed and realized he needed to shut up before he dug himself a deeper grave. "Never mind."  
  
The squadron flight leader, exasperated, threw his arms in the air and stormed away from Boggs and Royal, both of whom began to argue with each other about Bubba's big mouth.  
  
Along the way to the sim room, Glenn couldn't help but think about what the fatmouth had said. Everyone in the squadron thought he and Rainey made a cute couple. Glenn couldn't decide whether to be pleased or irate. He was most certainly embarrassed, being the central icon of the squadron now over such a ridiculous topic. He didn't even like Rainey in that way.  
  
Or did he? No, damn it, he didn't! It wasn't right! And it was against regulations, at that. It would never be like that - He wouldn't let it.  
  
But Glenn couldn't quite convince himself of that yet for some reason.  
  
---  
  
Tux had gotten back early in the afternoon, and was none worse for the wear, except in the attitude department. Beauregard had greeted the very annoyed pilot as soon as he had returned from the undesirable mission, but had gotten quite the surprise.  
  
"Why is there water dripping from the dusting tank? Why is the tank empty?" the Commander had asked when he'd noticed a little bit of the excess clear fluid dripping from the bottom of the plane onto the runway pavement. It was clear the dusting tank was indeed devoid of most of the liquid, which currently seemed to be a very old brown color.  
  
"Why the hell do you think it's empty?" an agitated Tuxedo had replied, even if to his Commander. "I used it, that's why. Those Black Hole troops sure were ticked. Well, they may have been Black Hole. I think they were, anyway. I don't think that water was totally clean, either. Makes me wonder how long it's been since that farmer that practically robbed us of whatever you paid for it used this thing."  
  
Beauregard eventually got enough information out of the obnoxious loudmouth that he knew the long area from the Reagan base to the city of Krasst was mostly devoid of Black Hole troops, at the moment, besides the supposed ones drowning in whatever Tux had dumped on them. The Commander had immediately set out towards the conference room to apparently discuss plans for the operation with commanders from the nearby army bases.  
  
Finally, late that evening, a voice came over the loudspeakers, emanating all around the base for those who needed to hear it. "All squadron pilots, please come to the briefing room immediately. Briefing will begin at twenty-hundred hours."  
  
Glenn made for the briefing room immediately - After he found it. He ended up being nearly late to whatever it was Beauregard was going to brief them about, but got there eventually after he'd stumbled into what he thought were the Reagan base's restrooms.  
  
He sat down in a seat next to the Thunderbolts and members from other squadrons just in time to see Beauregard step up to a podium at the front of the large room. "Let's get this started. Listen up, people."  
  
The Commander motioned for an aide to darken the lights, then switched on a picture projector. A large map of the city of Krasst appeared. "The plans for your first mission are ready. To keep things short - We have a few objectives.  
  
"The first is to assist ground forces in retaking the city, by force if necessary, which is undoubtedly the most likely assumption. This means you'll have to assist in taking out any enemy forces you can get at with your missiles or guns. You'll probably have to mostly deal with ground forces, but don't rule out enemy aircraft. There's a base near Krasst, and if the enemy has taken it too, then a counter-attack from them is very likely.  
  
"The second is to destroy Krasst's city hall. Naturally, the enemy has taken it over and formed a command center." Beauregard pointed to the middle of Krasst's enormous downtown area on the map, then at a small, poorly-constructed model on the table in front of him. "It's right here, and we have a model of it there for visual comprehension. Take it out by any means necessary. You don't have to worry about killing any civilians in there, since from what we've seen, Black Hole forces under Flak prefer to refrain from taking prisoners."  
  
"What about governmental officials or workers? Black Hole may be forcing them to do their dirty work." Cassie LaGall crossed her arms worriedly at just the thought of an enemy like Black Hole. Achmed Yahasatitapen, sitting next to her, didn't seem to be understanding a word anyone said, but was still able to keep up on what they were supposed to do very easily thanks to Beauregard's physical gestures towards the map and the purposeful hand signals he made specifically for the odd fellow to understand.  
  
"Again, from what we've seen, Black Hole takes no prisoners. They wiped out an entire governmental building in Holzer, so don't worry about taking innocent lives - only tainted ones."  
  
Glenn was perfectly fine with that.  
  
Beauregard pointed towards the bottom-center of the map. "Ring Squadron has a different assignment from the others. I want this squadron to stay outside the city and keep an eye on approaching Orange Star forces from the air. We don't need our boys on the ground getting hammered by enemy air forces because OUR air forces were too busy inside the city."  
  
The members of Ring Squadron seemed disappointed at their 'special' assignment. Glenn just smirked. He didn't need anyone other than the members of his own squadron getting in the way of whatever he and his wing- mates would be trying to do, so it didn't matter to him.  
  
"As for Heartbreak Squadron and Thunderbolt Squadron," the Commander continued, pointing at the bottom-left portion of the Krasst map, "you'll be approaching from the south-west. The ground battle will probably have started by then, so if any enemy air units are going to be incoming, it's going to be from the north-west. I want you to keep one eye out for these forces if they come along while you move towards Krasst's city hall.  
  
"These are the basic priorities of the mission that I want you all to remember. Don't forget what you're supposed to do. You should all go to bed now - You won't be taking off for Krasst tonight, it'll have to wait until tomorrow, but at four in the morning. We'll go over more details before you all take-off. Dismissed."  
  
The pilots exited. Glenn had drowsily began to walk out the door himself, but before he could fully get out, he heard Beauregard talking to an official back in the room.  
  
"You didn't give them all the details, Commander," he heard the official say.  
  
"I know," Beauregard's voice uttered, "but I don't need any of them tossing and turning. A nightmare about Black Hole is really the last thing any of them need right now, and I personally agree fully with that logic."  
  
Glenn hesitated, sighed, and, silently closing the door behind him, began to walk down the hall towards the pilot's wing.  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thanks to current and future review(er)s, your feedback is much appreciated. The next chapter might take a bit to get up, but it'll be worth it. Thanks again. 


	8. The Battle of Krasst

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Eight: The Battle of Krasst~  
  
~----~  
  
Dawn.  
  
The sun had not yet made its presence known to Macro's southern Orange Star reason even at five in the morning. Nor had the horrendous wake-up siren sounded out yet to alert any still-slumbering personel at the Reagan air base. Instead, the thunderous rumbles of twenty-four Orange Star fighter jets had broken the silent morning air, some waiting, some flying.  
  
Thunderbolt Squadron left first. Ring Squadron took off second, and Heartbreak Squadron brought up the rear in third. The squadrons were seperated by maybe two minutes, but that was a long time when it came to battle time.  
  
Flying in a rogue formation that consisted of no one really flying near another for the moment, the 207th soared over the black darkness of ground for perhaps twenty minutes. To Glenn, that seemed like an eternity, especially since they knew they were heading into combat as soon as they reached the city of Krasst. While he loved flying these fighters, sometimes, sitting in them waiting to reach a destination gave him too much to think about at one time or another.  
  
His hand moved unconciously to the Cross necklace he wore. Hopefully, he thought to himself, we'll all stay safe in this. As long as we don't get any interference from enemy buzzards up here, this mission will go fine.  
  
At least, he hoped so. There was no way to be sure. One never had the luxury of being sure about things in a time such as war. If only it were that easy, Glenn wished.  
  
His helmeted head looked towards the left side of the canopy, out into the darkness where he could see Tuxedo's plane against the dark blue horizon. Tux's similarly-helmeted head was visible thanks to the green hue his fighter's controls and icons gave off during nighttime. Glenn personally wondered what the expression on Tux's face usually was when the guy was flying. If it were normally that self-assured smirk that was plastered on his mug every day in and out, it couldn't have been doing well at the moment, if he felt like anything that Glenn felt. "Proceed with radar comprehension, Tux. You're in the lead right now, after all."  
  
"Well, everything's hokey-dorey right now, Cap'n," the other pilot bragged over the radio. "I think at the sight of us, anyone on the ground wearing black high-tailed it out of here 'cause they've heard of us, and knew we were just too dang good for 'em. Hopefully whoever's in the middle of Krasst will get the same idea."  
  
I wish, Glenn thought. "Speaking of which, we should be nearing Krasst soon. All wings, form up."  
  
The rest of the 207th steadily began to close together as sunlight began to break over the far mountains. Krasst was just around the corner from that set of jagged peaks, and it would take around five more minutes to enter the city limits.  
  
Glenn knew what Krasst looked like. Most of the city consisted of one giant downtown area, the governmental buildings mostly being in the center of town. Many of the buildings were over fifty stories tall, and he and the Thunderbolts would have to take care to avoid them. Glenn had never expected to encounter such enviromental hazards as buildings and towers when he'd become a pilot, but now he knew they would be many of the things he'd have to watch out for.  
  
"There's the infantry." Rainey's voice over the radio informed them of exactly how close they were to battle. Glenn looked off towards the near side of the mountains and saw the Orange Star ground forces who were to enter the city. From so far up in the sky, he and the 207th had no way to tell if they were engaged in combat already. "Orders, Glenn?"  
  
"Keep on course for now. Let's step it up, they could already be fighting down there." Glenn ratcheted the throttle of his aircraft up, further increasing his already blistering speed. After a few moments, the eight Orange Star fighters shot over the ground forces and began a wide turn, beginning to route past the mountains. It didn't appear as though the infantry were engaged in any fighting as of yet, but Glenn knew that would change all too soon, if Black Hole played its cards.  
  
"Watch for enemy fire," Glenn warned them over the radio. "We could be entering open range at any moment."  
  
Tux gazed down at the ground from the cockpit of his fighter. "Want us to engage if we come under fire, Glenn?"  
  
The pilot sounded reasonably concerned, and that caused Glenn to smile. "No, stay your course. These things are too fast for anyone to keep up with down on the ground, even Black Hole."  
  
Or so he presumed. Glenn didn't find taking unnecessary risks terribly desirable, but they had to destroy the enemy command center as soon as possible. They'd rush back and blow up whatever they had to afterwards, when it was hopefully safer since the enemy would be in confusion with no incoming transmissions from city hall.  
  
The Thunderbolts flew out of the shadows produced by the mountains, and Glenn took a long gaze towards the horizon. He felt his stomach flip-flop as soon as the enormous orange-hued buildings of Krasst itself came into view. Immediately he realized there could have been ten million places for enemy troops to hide in the entire southern part of the city alone. For all he knew, there could have been space to fit anti-air units in some of the buildings. It wouldn't help them any to have those and a plum thousand other enemy units situated on rooftops as well. He couldn't help but wonder for a bare second if this were a suicide mission.  
  
He flicked a switch on his control panel, activating the weapons system. "Maintain visual scanning!"  
  
Here we go, he thought as he raised the control stick slightly out of slight claustrophobia when the buildings drew near. He then moved it to starboard a tad, easily sending his fighter past one of the taller buildings.  
  
And right into open range.  
  
"Tux, break off!" Trusting his wing-mate to comply, Glenn again shoved the throttle up as far as it would go as soon as enemy ground units caught the corners of his vision. Enemy infantry. He didn't have an especially good view of them from all the way up in the sky, but he could clearly tell they were firing at him and every other Thunderbolt who quickly blew over them at six hundred miles an hour.  
  
Anti-air came next. There were always some of them lying around, just waiting to shoot down something they found ugly. And at the moment, they found Glenn Gordon hideous. "I have enemy anti-air units shooting peas at me here! Be careful, 'Bolts!"  
  
He corkscrewed the fighter, making himself more wirey of a target as he shot over the Black Hole platoon of anti-air, and proceeded onward towards the center of the city. While he'd gotten past, he wished he could say the same for the rest of his squadron.  
  
"Takin' heavy fire," he heard Bubba grumble. He'd be okay. Bubba had a knack for annoying enemy forces by being so difficult to hit at times. He seemed to know every trick in the book for slipping past a missile or duking out of the way just in time to watch bullets go soaring past.  
  
Glenn would have allowed himself to smile once he uncomfortably looked back and saw Bubba easily evade the fire of the Black Hole units, but the flight leader immediately became the target of bullseye practice himself. He shoved the yoke hard to port, sending the fighter into a violent spin as he raced past whatever was shooting at him. "Crap!"  
  
They were positioned on rooftops now, as he'd earlier guessed. "Someone take care of these buggers!"  
  
An explosion rocked the building the enemy units had been sitting on. Whatever was left of them went flying off in a thousand different directions thanks to a rocket from Cassie LaGall's fighter. "Thanks, Cass'."  
  
Cassie didn't respond, besides with a mumble that sounded something of a nag. Although they would save each other's rear ends if they had to, she and Glenn still mostly loathed each other.  
  
"Keep it moving, Thunderbolts. We've got to hit the command center before things get too rough." The fighters began to encounter the taller buildings of Krasst as they plowed deeper into what were undoubtedly the more dangerous portions of the city. "We should be getting close."  
  
"We've got more of these anti-air morons over here to your niner, Glenn." Tux's plane visibly began to attempt to form up with Glenn's as they raced over and past towers. "If we're not careful, they may get us on the way back."  
  
Glenn sighed, and slowly began to wonder why Beauregard had ever placed him in command of the squadron. Being a leader definitely wasn't the easiest job in the world, that enough was certain. "We've got a better chance of taking them out on the way back than if we were to go after them right now. It's imperative that we hit city hall."  
  
He glanced off towards a random area of the city to look for any more enemy units, but his bare moment of unattention nearly sent Glenn plowing directly into one of the larger buildings. He recovered immediately, shoving the fighter hard to the right and narrowly shooting past it. "Damn! Keep an eye on where you're headed, 'Bolts, you don't want to accidentally redecorate someone's office!"  
  
Then he sighed to himself, really hoping the radios wouldn't give out in the middle of this whole thing. That was really the last thing any of them needed right now. He didn't know why the thought struck him, but it did, and it gave him one more possible scenario to die over.  
  
Marcus was the first to see them. The clouds over the northern portion of the city puffed and gave way slightly as a flock of black dots exited them, moving steadily over the buildings far north of where the Thunderbolts blazed on. The pilot almost unconciously yelled into his radio. "Enemy fighters coming in from the north! I have visual confirmation on ten, repeat, one-oh enemy fighters heading towards our position from the north! Estimated time of arrival is ten seconds!"  
  
A large bead of sweat ran down Glenn's face under the full-faced helmet. "Engage at will! And keep your heads steady!"  
  
The attack began. The sides became one, and the sky molded into a vile mixture of black and orange.  
  
So these are Black Hole fighters, Glenn thought. Let's see exactly how they do when toe-to-toe with the best aircraft the civilized world has. The pilot sent his fighter into a random pattern of zig-and-zag motions, trying his best simply to keep up with the very sudden dogfight occuring right over the middle of Krasst. There really wasn't much he could do until things sorted themselves out for him - Then he could go to town with strategy, and all that.  
  
The dogfight's combatants were positioned so close together that it was difficult even staying one's course. And Glenn couldn't really risk going too far away from the fight, because then he'd be leaving his companions for too long, and someone would come around and get a shot on him anyway. He'd have to wait it out until someone fluked up.  
  
The desired fluke didn't come yet. These guys are good, Glenn realized. Nor did it help that their numbers were larger than theirs. Ten against eight - It would seem that Black Hole enjoyed the luxury of outnumbering their opponents. Now that was just cheating. Glenn and his squadron would just have to show them that cheaters never prospered.  
  
Eventually, the eighteen fighter jets began to cleanly though jaggedly open up from each other, allowing Glenn to finally be able to get to work. Almost as soon as the range between most of them had increased, a small patch of Black Hole fighters in a crude line-formation came before the Thunderbolt flight leader as he swung around on them. "Form up, Tux."  
  
He nudged the control stick ever so slightly so that he could try to set his sights on the far-right enemy plane as Tuxedo's jet cautiously came up by Glenn's port wing. "Switch to guns and open fire on the far-left one, now!"  
  
"Ten-four, boss-boy." Tux skillfully edged his plane over to get the farthest black-hued fighter on the left within his gun sights, and before the enemy plane could shoot out of the way, the Orange Star pilot unleashed bullet-fury on his opponent. With a hideous boom, the Black Hole craft began to plummet, whatever was left of it consumed in a blaze. "Hah! That's one!"  
  
"Don't celebrate yet, Tux," Glenn muttered grimly, "I have the feeling that one was just a warm-up."  
  
The lead enemy Black Hole fighter came within Glenn's narrow sights. Carefully and skillfully, the lead Thunderbolt pilot began to close on his black-painted prey, arming the lock-on-missiles.  
  
The Black Hole fighter juked to Glenn's right, and then shot back in the other direction as it soared upwards, trying to avoid the Orange Star pilot chasing it, but Glenn Gordon would not be so easily lost. Bringing his own aircraft upwards and to port, he continued to remain locked on the enemy fighter's back.  
  
But before he could even think about firing a missile, the Black Hole jet corkscrewed downwards, narrowly racing over a building rooftop. It began to shoot down a long, wide street as though it were a canyon trench.  
  
Damn, these guys WERE good! Glenn would have hesitated to attempt such a risky maneuver as following the Black Hole fighter - But then he came back into reality and allowed himself to grin ever so slightly for the barest of moments before blazing down into the 'trench' himself.  
  
The Black Hole fighter shot past windows, shattering them instantly with the sonic boom that shattered the other sounds of battle all around the city now. For a moment, Glenn couldn't believe he was in the middle of this. Shooting down a busy road just high enough to avoid taking out a thousand streetlights while moving at what felt like the speed of light? Was this some sort of action movie? Immediately he broke into a heavy, cold sweat, but stayed his course anyway. He hadn't rejoined the air force to play paddycake with these people.  
  
The enemy fighter, realizing it still hadn't outrun its pursuer, suddenly twisted upwards out of the canyon-like road area and raced past one of the taller buildings. Glenn, for perhaps a split second, wondered why it so quickly dogged out of the trench, but upon noticing a very large building ended the road just ahead of him, realized exactly why. "G'ah!"  
  
He shoved the stick towards himself with all his might. The Orange Star fighter raced upwards over the brick building and red filled the corners of Glenn's vision as the g-forces threatened to knock any conciousness he currently had ahld of out of his head. Quickly shaking off the very dizzy and stomach-twisting feeling, he took a half-second to glance off in the direction of the rest of his squadron. Everyone seemed to be having as much trouble as him at the moment.  
  
It had been just over a minute since the dogfight began. By now, the sky over Krasst was covered with the bright yellow of bullets being fired every which way, the occasional black entrails of missiles, and the hideous sound of jets being strained to meet the priorities their pilots made. Down on the ground, it wasn't much better. The Orange Star ground forces had begun their attack and were quickly making their way into the city, despite constant fire from enemy troops.  
  
Tux wasn't faring any better than any of his companions. He was busy with a random Black Hole buzzard trying to cling to him, but Tux wasn't making it easy for the enemy pilot. His zig-zagging movements were some of the best among the air at that moment, and everyone knew it - even the enemy pilots.  
  
In the heat of the moment, the second-in-command of the Thunderbolts sent his fighter into a twist that successfully dogged up whatever the Black Hole fighter behind him was trying to do, and within a moment, Tux was able to goad his opponent into soaring past him.  
  
But in that instant, Tux's eyes caught something on the side of the enemy aircraft. Presumably, it was the enemy pilot's last name, and Tux immediately could recall hearing the name from somewhere before, but he didn't center on when or where. But the name just rang out to him like a bell. He definitely knew the name had crossed his ears - or vision - before.  
  
Gallow.  
  
"Glenn," Tristan's frantic voice yelled, "there's one comin' around on you!"  
  
Glenn cursed out loud - not realizing it went into everyone else's ears - and slowed his fighter down immensely as he shoved the plane hard into an extremely tight left turn. The Black Hole fighter that he had been chasing was now clinging to Glenn and his every move, and the tight turn the lead Thunderbolt made didn't help the situation any.  
  
He forced his aircraft into another series of random-and-very-wild movements, all at over mach one. He even sent the fighter into a large patch of the taller buildings and flew around them as though he were in the middle of some huge, dangerous maze, but whatever Glenn did, the enemy fighter hung with him, and quite easily.  
  
An enormous sense of urgency overcame him. He had to get this guy off his back, or they could kiss the operation - and possibly the war - goodbye. As long as he led the flight campaign over Krasst, things were steady, but with the loss of leadership for the Thunderbolts, it would be up to Heartbreak Squadron to get things done. From what Glenn had seen of them at the Washington base, Heartbreak was nothing but a flock of green kids who all had trouble just trying to keep in formation with one another. They couldn't be counted on for something like blowing the enemy command center without getting themselves killed in the process. Nor could he rely on allied ground forces, since for all he knew Black Hole had a million soldiers on their way to Krasst already. Glenn knew he had to stay alive.  
  
His determination rising, the Thunderbolt flight leader ventured in closer to where the main dogfight raged. While that would give him a larger ratio for error, it would possibly throw a cork in the pursuing craft's chase.  
  
The lead Thunderbolt fighter flew directly into the beehive and was immediately swarmed by the fifteen other aircraft all busy trying to shoot opposing sides down. On more than one occasion Glenn felt the blood move from one side of his head to the other when some of the movements he sent his plane into ended up being more erratic than he'd hoped they'd have to be.  
  
He realized he was going to pass out any moment if this kept up. Perhaps coming right back into the fire hadn't been the best of ideas. But before he could decide on whether or not he was upset with himself, an annoyingly loud beeping sound filled his cockpit, being somehow louder than the terribly loud plane engines themselves.  
  
There was no way he was going to let himself fall into unconciousness now. The Black Hole fighter had a missile lock on him.  
  
"BREAK LEFT, GLENN!" The flight leader didn't notice an anonymous Thunderbolt shout out the warning. He was already doing so just as the missile soared from the enemy Black Hole jet.  
  
Glenn was barely ahead of it. The black missile skewed past his rolling fighter by mere feet. "Damn, that was close!"  
  
He nearly felt like vomiting at what he saw next. The rogue missile, having lost its target, began to waver back and forth, upward and downwards as it clumsily headed off towards nowhere in particular. Out of the blue, one of Glenn's companions flew directly into its path, and Gordon instantly knew one Thunderbolt - one of his friends - was now dead. The explosion sent shards of firey orange metal in every possible direction.  
  
His face turning red, Glenn ferociously threw the yoke hard to the right, hoping to come around on the Thunderbolt's killer, who was now just hovering to his starboard side. He craned his neck to try and see where exactly the guy was heading and how he could successfully come around on the enemy pilot, but before he got a chance to figure all that out, his eyes came in contact with something that confused him greatly.  
  
Painted on the upper-and-undersides of both of the Black Hole fighter's wings were hawks, colored in a very dark black and outlined in white.  
  
"What the--?" a most solidly startled Glenn uttered out loud.  
  
"What's the matter, Glenn?" Tux asked over the radio, sounding more concerned and urgent than Gordon could ever remember in the duration of the time he'd known the man.  
  
"I've seen those hawk emblems before," the Thunderbolt leader responded, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "But where?"  
  
"Forget it, Glenn," Bubba growled, "we've gotta hit city hall before this thing gets beyond our control!"  
  
Bubba was right. City hall - the command center - had to be destroyed. Where the hell were those idiots in Heartbreak Squadron when he needed them? "Bubba, Tristan, break off from the fight and find the command center! Blow it to hell!"  
  
"You got it, Gordo'."  
  
Glenn didn't bother looking for the two orange aircraft to race off from the dogfight. He was too busy trying to stay with the Black Hole fighter with the strange hawk emblems painted on it. Carefully moving the control stick to match the other pilot's jagged movements, Glenn eventually came within closing distance of the other craft. "I'm on the leader. . ."  
  
The Thunderbolt pilot prepared a missile, but as soon as he did, the mysterious Black Hole craft he was pursuing began a wild set of wiley and unpredictable movements. Glenn found it enormously difficult to even keep track of where the other aircraft was headed.  
  
Look at this damn guy, he thought. He's flying like a wasted hummingbird.  
  
The chase continued, but not without an extreme amount of work from Glenn. The other pilot's erratic movements told Glenn he or she was good. Very good.  
  
But Glenn felt he was better. Activating the lock-on sequence, the noisy, constant "beep-beep" sound overcame the sounds of his cockpit as he attempted to get a lock on the enemy fighter as the two aircraft twisted and swiveled past buildings and other planes who only got in the way of the current duel occuring between Glenn and the enemy pilot.  
  
Finally, when Glenn felt he had enough of a chance to risk it, his index finger grasped the small red button on the fighter's control stick and pressured it, sending an orange-colored missile out into the reaches of the sky with the enemy Black Hole fighter as the intended target. As long as the pilot wasn't a supernatural being, Glenn felt the shot would never miss.  
  
It did.  
  
The enemy pilot duked right out of the way in the most absurdly impossible of manners just as the missile came within meters of making contact. Glenn nearly screamed, but held his breath as he realized the enormous mistake he made. The missile, having lost its target, plowed directly into one of Krasst's towers. The side of the building erupted in an explosion and became an inferno.  
  
Glenn's gloved hand slammed furiously down into the seat under him as he cursed again since hitting anything else would have triggered a device within the craft. Who knew how many innocent lives were inside that building? Damn it all! What the hell was wrong with him?  
  
Immediately he told himself he wasn't to blame, since the enemy fighter had slipped right out of the way, but still, he knew he had a responsibility to be careful, even when dogfighting up here in the air. Feeling as terrible as he'd ever felt since first climbing into the seat of any airplane he'd ever been in, Glenn reluctantly twisted the control stick to the right, hoping to again catch the skilled enemy fighter pilot.  
  
He looked upwards towards the top of the canopy, allowing himself to view the city from a side angle. The enemy fighter was circling him as Glenn, it. This went on for around thirty seconds until another explosion pierced the skies, causing the lead Thunderbolt's gaze to leave his opponent to see what had been hit.  
  
It was another Black Hole fighter, toppling towards the ground, completely destroyed. The odds were getting better.  
  
"The command center has been destroyed!" Bubba's voice sounded less troubled than earlier now, but it wasn't over yet. "Repeat, the command center has been destroyed! Our ground forces are moving in!"  
  
While the ground battle was gaining favor towards Orange Star, the chaos in the air didn't slow one bit, even as Bubba and Tristan returned as soon as they could to the conflict. The skies still hung with black entrails from missiles and gunfire, along with dead black smoke from the current casualties.  
  
Gordon couldn't very well break off the duel he was locked in with the apparent leader of the Black Hole fighters since doing so would allow his opponent to easily come around on him, but when Tux swung around behind the enemy pilot circling him, Glenn was relieved to see the black-painted plane shoot off from its course, allowing Gordon some breathing room. "Phew."  
  
Almost immediately, as he leveled out, another Black Hole fighter was lined up within his sights. Glenn blew it apart without as much trouble as he predicted he would have, and as he shot past parts of the disintegrating craft, gazed towards the other members of his squadron. "The odds are even now, folks, let's keep it up!"  
  
The battle raged on with no casualties from either side as its intensity went up a notch further. With both sides' numbers even, things were looking more bright for the Orange Stars than when the combat had first started. The two squadrons, locked in a deadly battle with each other, refused to let either side gain the upper hand. The random, sporadic fire of missiles and bullets went on for nearly five minutes, seriously testing the Thunderbolts' patience and endurance levels.  
  
It didn't help any that they all had to be extremely careful as to not shoot down any enemy fighters over their allied ground companions. The last thing THEY needed was to have an already-destroyed enemy jet plow into the lot of them.  
  
It wasn't until Achmed lined up a Black Hole fighter in his sights that the battle finally turned towards Orange Star's favor. With a pull of the red trigger on his control stick, Achmed fired the one lone missile he had left, hoping to finally claim his first kill of the day.  
  
The enemy fighter apparently didn't realize it was about to be demolished. The missile easily made impact with the craft's black outer hull, the pilot not being able to make even the most basic of evasion maneuvers, successfully giving the chaotic fireworks show one more big bang to look at. Whatever was left of the enemy craft plunged into the ground - right on top of Black Hole infantry.  
  
"Woohoo!" Achmed shouted over the radio, pumping a fist in his plane. From his own seat, Glenn allowed himself a smile for half a second.  
  
That was the final click of a trigger in the fighting. As soon as the Black Hole fighter destroyed by Achmed hit the ground, the remaining enemy fighters's courses all shifted northward, away from the Orange Stars. Shouting and whooping immediately overcame the Thunderbolts' radio.  
  
Glenn Gordon could not remember ever feeling so exhausted and relieved. His head felt as though a hammer had been taken to it thanks to the gravity forces, his stomach was still trying to sort itself out, and there was also the pain of knowing at least one of the Thunderbolts was dead. Immediately, as he kept one eye on the escaping Black Hole air units, Glenn set out to find out who was here and who wasn't.  
  
"All wings, report in," he muttered as his hand unconciously moved towards the necklace he wore for no other reason other than to hang his very weak fist from it.  
  
"Boggs, standing by." Good, Bubba was here. He figured he'd make it. What about the others?  
  
"Ral, standing by." Phew. Glenn was particularly glad Tux was still around. After all, the guy was his wing-mate, roommate, and the best friend he had in the entire squadron.  
  
"Royal, standing by." Hey, the kid made it. This would certainly be one for the memory book.  
  
"Banker, standing by." Thank God. Rainey was alright. Glenn sighed again out of thanks for fate or the heavens.  
  
"LaGall, standing by." Yeah, okay, next.  
  
Glenn hesitated. And hesitated. Finally, he grew worried enough to speak again. "Achmed?"  
  
"Si."  
  
The Thunderbolt leader smirked, happy to see the especially odd member of the 207th made it as well. But there was one more flight member who was currently unaccounted for. "Marcus, do you copy?"  
  
There was no response over the radio from Marcus Madison. Glenn wouldn't have to try again. All seven remaining flight members of Thunderbolt Squadron were present, including Gordon himself.  
  
Under his breath, he sighed again. "Damn it."  
  
The battle down on the ground had stopped almost as quickly as the chaos in the air. Orange Star infantry had completely taken half of the city, and since most of the enemy forces had mobilized to the south to try and repel the invaders, they wouldn't have to worry about much more resistance now. "They have everything under control, 'Bolts. Let's head home."  
  
Slowly, all of the Thunderbolt fighters, their pilots more experienced now than they'd ever been, began to take a direct flight back to the southern portion of the city and towards the mountains, where the Reagan base sat just on the other side.  
  
On the flight back, Glenn couldn't help but begin thinking again as he slowly regained his composure and normal heart rate. He'd had the most kills today, but they'd come after a horrid amount of work. That told him Black Hole was no Blue Moon. These guys meant business - serious business.  
  
And that aircraft, the very mysterious one with the hawk emblems painted on it, as though its pilot were special in some sort of way.  
  
Wait. Black Hole was no Blue Moon.  
  
Black Hole was no Blue Moon. . .  
  
He suddenly realized just what was going on here. He'd seen the hawk emblems on an enemy fighter during the dogfight at the Blue Moon rocket base three months earlier, when Knives had been killed. It took nearly a full minute to let this sudden realization fully sink in and get to his heart - and brain.  
  
Glenn finally let it take effect. "The son of a bitch defected."  
  
In the cockpit of his own fighter, Tux blinked rapidly, startled by the very sudden comment from his flight leader. "What, Glenn?"  
  
"I'll explain when we get back to Reagan."  
  
Glenn's expression turned downwards as the squadron slowly left Krasst's city limits. To his surprise and sad understanding, he saw the sun was still hardly visible. Morning hadn't even officially begun yet, and he'd had the worst fight of his life while having lost a friend in the middle of it.  
  
Glenn prayed the day wouldn't be as bad as the morning that grasped it.  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Phew. That was fun to write. So, now you see what Kailaff Boldigh's elite Blue Moon squadron has gone and done. Glenn certainly won't be very happy when he gets back, I'd wager. In any case, thanks for reading, and any R+R's are very much appreciated. Thanks again, and I'll see you soon. 


	9. Disturbing Discoveries

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Nine: Disturbing Discoveries~  
  
~----~  
  
The sun had finally made its full presence known over the far eastern Macro- Orange Star mountains when Thunderbolt Squadron came in for their landings at their new home, the Reagan Air Force Base.  
  
Glenn made sure the entire squadron landed before he did so, considering he felt a leader always stayed until they was sure their subordinates were safe and good-to-go. It had been the way he'd felt during his campaign with the Green Earth air force, but he'd never really gotten to test the theory. Perhaps Roger Winters, his captain, had instilled that feeling in him.  
  
Glenn landed his aircraft after a few circles around the base and, after stopping the fighter so the landing crews could deal with it and get it to the hangars, immediately exited it and began to search out a certain other squadron with whom the lead Thunderbolt fighter was EXTREMELY agitated with. Regulations ordered all squadron pilots to go to their commanders after a mission, but even though he had things of great importance concerning the enemy on his mind at the moment, Glenn found any discussion with Beauregard could hold off for a bit. He was positively fuming inside his head, and not wholly because of Black Hole.  
  
Heartbreak Squadron had apparently gotten back before all the Thunderbolts. Glenn, holding his oxygen helmet in his hands and still sweating up waterfalls from what had happened over Krasst not twenty or thirty minutes earlier, stormed along on the tarmac over to where the group of other pilots in Heartbreak conversed, obviously going over what had happened as they stood near their sitting planes. One of them saw Glenn Gordon coming towards the lot of them and turned around, noticing the lightning bolt patch the lead Thunderbolt wore. "Uh oh."  
  
Glenn was there in seconds. He pushed directly past the idiot gawking at him and came face-to-face with the Heartbreak Squadron leader. It took a biblical amount of self-control to refrain from going ahead and beating them all down right there and then, but Glenn had always had a great deal of self-control already. "Where the hell were all of you!?"  
  
The Heartbreak leader stared at him. Obviously far different from the green kids he flew with, he was a man about Glenn's age, perhaps a little older since Glenn was twenty-six, with short blonde hair opposed to the Thunderbolt's brown. The most intimidating thing about him, though, was that he towered over the 5'8" Glenn Gordon. The man must have been over 6'4". At first glance, the Heartbreak leader could have perhaps been mistaken for a heavyweight boxer. "What do you mean, 'where were we?'"  
  
Glenn's anger went up a notch as he glared up at the man. "You know what I'm talking about! What in blue blazes happened to all of you!? Didn't you see what was going on!?"  
  
"What business is it of yours where we were, little Thunderbolt?" The Heartbreak leader crossed his arms as the rest of his pathetic squadron chuckled. "I'm sure it was nothing you couldn't handle. We got a little busy assisting Ring Squadron, that's all."  
  
"Ring Squadron only needed to help out the ground forces!" Glenn felt his blood pressure rising rapidly. "They didn't need a second squadron helping them out! We lost a man up there today, a good man! It could have been AVOIDED!"  
  
The Heartbreaker's expression sagged slightly. "Ring Squadron lost one, too. The fact that you had casualties is irrelevant to the matter. Commander Beauregard felt-"  
  
"-A- casualty! Marcus Madison!" Glenn growled, his hands clenching into fists.  
  
"Commander Beauregard," the other pilot stated, ignoring Glenn's furious interruption, "felt that Ring Squadron does not have pilots as experienced as yours, little Thunderbolt."  
  
"Well, why the hell didn't you split your squadron? Have half stay with Ring and have the other half come help us?"  
  
"I didn't feel it was necessary," the Heartbreaker muttered, his voice practically reeking of self-assurance. "Marcus Madison wasn't that great a pilot anyway. I'll make a much better addition to your squadron. Do you understand now?"  
  
As if the Marcus comment weren't infuriating enough, the way he spoke told Glenn that the man was treating the Thunderbolt flight leader as though he were fourteen years old. If there was anything at that moment that caused Glenn to keep from hitting the man right in the face, it was Beauregard walking up behind him, quickly trying to get the situation under control.  
  
"Hey, hey!" he yelled, racing up next to Glenn and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down, Gordon! Lordamighty, come on, let's go inside."  
  
Glenn hesitated, glaring at the Heartbreaker, and noticed all the other members of the squadron were staring at him like he were a moron for trying to pick a fight with their leader. He wasn't intimidated at all by the likes of any of them, but when he noticed that his own squadron was standing on the tarmac, having been staring at the confrontation the entire time, he felt a wave of embarrassment overcome him. Immediately he tried to overpower the shame he felt, and began to walk towards the Reagan command center with Beauregard.  
  
Heartbreak Squadron turned away from him, more interested in themselves than Glenn or what had happened at Krasst.  
  
Glenn didn't bother looking over his shoulder as he walked next to his commander, but he didn't question what exactly was going on here. "Who exactly was that buffoon, sir?"  
  
"Fel Banon," Beauregard uttered. "Your new wing-mate."  
  
Glenn, having been too busy fuming, hadn't noticed it when the Heartbreak leader, Fel Banon, had informed him of his apparent new status in Thunderbolt Squadron. He whirled around, staring at Beauregard as though the man had just sprouted a second head. "What? That guy!?"  
  
Beauregard didn't stop walking even though Glenn had. "Mm-hmm."  
  
In a rush, the Thunderbolt flight leader raced to catch up after standing there for a few seconds, bewildered. "That guy smells bad, and when I say that, I mean he reeks of arrogance, sir. The last thing I need in my squadron is a guy like that, messing things up for all of us. I've seen that kind of person before - They're nothing but trouble."  
  
"Tough," Beauregard said simply.  
  
"Sir," Glenn growled, very carefully placing his hand on Beauregard's shoulder to try and get him to stop a moment and face him, "I refuse to have that snake-ass in my squadron! Nothing good can come of this! Don't you understand?"  
  
Now, the Commander grew annoyed with Glenn. The older man did indeed turn, but looked terribly agitated, causing Glenn to realize exactly how far he'd crossed the line between conversing and arguing. "Glenn Gordon, you will remember who you are addressing in this matter. Up there in combat, you're most certainly in command of the squadron, but anywhere else, you and everyone else stationed here are official property of me, and I say Fel Banon is in your squadron as a replacement for Marcus Madison. I know you've recieved this info of pretty short notice, considering what just happened, but we already have the paperwork signed. Fel Banon is an exceptional pilot and he will be a worthy addition to your flight. If you don't like or agree with what I'm saying, then you can kindly get the hell off my air base."  
  
Glenn shifted weight between his feet, feeling enormously uncomfortable, since if anyone here deserved a lecture it was Fel. Glenn had also never expected himself to be the first Thunderbolt besides Tuxedo Ral to get a very strict talking to. He could only pray his squadron didn't see the two of them standing there, Beauregard shoving a superior's words down his throat. "Yes, sir."  
  
"I don't want to have this conversation again with you, Gordon," the Commander grumbled, eyeing Glenn.  
  
"Yes, sir," the pilot stated a second time, hoping Beauregard was done. It did indeed seem that way, since the Commander angrily began walking back towards the command center again. Glenn wished he wouldn't have to follow, but did so. They still had things to talk about - Very important things. "Commander, I still need to speak with you about-"  
  
"Can it wait, Glenn?" the Commander asked, his previously-annoyed voice returning to its normal, grizzley self. "You and the rest of the 207th need to get to the infirmary to check and see if you're all physically okay."  
  
"I'm fine," Glenn muttered, stopping again when they'd entered the command center. He put his still-gloved hands on his hips. "What if I told you that I'd seen similarities today between a Black Hole fighter and a certain Blue Moon fighter?"  
  
Beauregard stopped where he was and turned to face Glenn, expressionless. "Go on."  
  
"Today, over Krasst, during combat, I saw that one of the Black Hole fighters we were engaged with had the exact same hawk emblems on its wings that a Blue Moon fighter in the Cosmo region had. I remember because I saw the Blue Mooner three months ago when Knives was killed." Glenn eyed his Commander, waiting for any sort of response, whether vocal or expression- wise.  
  
The older official only rubbed his chin. "This is very disturbing news. . . But it was not unexpected."  
  
Glenn blinked, startled. "How's that?"  
  
Beauregard didn't answer at first. He only stood there, eyes gazing at nothing in particular, thinking. Finally, he looked back at Glenn, straight in the eyes. "Glenn, did you notice anything else odd about the enemy fighters today?"  
  
There had been a million things Glenn found odd about the enemy fighters. But he centered on the first one odd thing that came to his mind as he remembered the dogfight over Krasst. "Some of them looked different from others. Alot of the fighters didn't even have canopies or viewports. Some did, but the glass was completely black, so they blended in easily with their paint schemes. It was difficult to tell differences between them, other than that."  
  
A sigh escaped Beauregard's lips. "That's what I figured."  
  
"Sir," Glenn uttered, growing annoyed, "will you please tell me what's going on here? What's with that fighter I saw today?"  
  
"I'll tell you, but only if you go to the infirmary. The rest of your squadron is already there anyway, so don't be stubborn." Successful at getting Glenn to come along, Beauregard jerked his head towards another hallway and began walking down it.  
  
"It's fairly safe to say," he said as they walked, "that many forces have defected to Black Hole's terror campaign. Green Earth, Yellow Comet, even some of our own troops have gone towards the other side, but most of the defections have come from Blue Moon."  
  
Glenn had not even known that other countries had been invaded as well. If only people around here would let him know what in blue blazes was going on sometimes, maybe then he wouldn't feel so confused about things.  
  
"Have you ever heard of Kailaff Boldigh?" the Commander suddenly asked.  
  
Glenn paused, then came to a conclusion. "I believe so. He was the lead Blue Moon pilot in the first campaign's final battle. They say he took out quite alot of enemy forces alone, and his squadron didn't do so badly either."  
  
"Yeah, well, that squadron you're talking about is the one you fought against today."  
  
So that was indeed it. Glenn wasn't particularly dumb - As soon as Beauregard had mentioned Kailaff Boldigh, it was a safe assumption that the renegade Blue Moon defector and his squadron was to blame for the combat over Krasst. Muscles clenched in his face as he ground his teeth, feeling his anger rising, but he told himself to calm down. There wasn't anything he could do right now anyway. "I should have known."  
  
"I expected you to come to me about this," Beauregard said, "since Tuxedo Ral came to me first, mentioning the similarities he'd noticed himself between a Black Hole fighter today and one of Blue Moon's he'd seen in the past. The fighter had been dogging his craft before three months ago, and it did so again today.  
  
"It would seem that Zodo Gallow has defected with Boldigh, but that's not necessarily surprising, since Gallow is Boldigh's wing-mate. It's safe to say Syerri Sven defected as well, considering she was Boldigh's lover."  
  
Syerri Sven? Glenn didn't recognize that name. "Who's Syerri Sven?"  
  
"It doesn't matter anymore because she's waste matter now, that's who. One of those bogeys you shot down had her in it. The ground troops found what was left of her inside the plane a little while ago." Beauregard turned and looked at Glenn intensely. "Did you notice anything happen when you or someone else took down an enemy fighter?"  
  
"No, although as soon as Achmed took down one of them, they all buggered off."  
  
Beauregard's expression tightened. "What kind was it: one of the kind that didn't have a canopy?"  
  
Glenn shook his head. "No, it was one of the fighters with a canopy, a viewport. I could see it where I was, though I wasn't really in a position to actually try and identify that portion of it."  
  
"What about the others that were taken down?" the Commander immediately asked.  
  
Glenn hesitated, trying to figure out exactly where this was going. Nevertheless, he went ahead and answered whatever it was the Commander wanted to know. "Tux took one down, but I think it was the kind without a canopy or anything. So did I."  
  
"I see," Beauregard mumbled, his hand returning to his chin thoughtfully.  
  
The Thunderbolt flight leader stood there, again waiting for a response. He wouldn't have to wait very long.  
  
"We've recieved enough information from our forces situated around the region to know that most of Black Hole's military is made up of mechanics, controlled by self-sentient artificial intelligence. It would seem that they have specially-made weapons of war for those who defect to their cause."  
  
Glenn blinked. How was that possible? An entire army made up simply of artificial intelligence? "You mean we're getting our butts handed to us by a bunch of computers?"  
  
"I suppose you could put it that way," Beauregard uttered, not looking at the Thunderbolt standing before him confusedly. "Of course, their infantry are still sentient beings themselves. Black Hole probably couldn't operate without them."  
  
"What about those hawk emblems?" Glenn wanted to know. "What's with them?"  
  
"Boldigh's nickname is - or was - the Blue Hawk, considering he was the best pilot Blue Moon had to offer. They'll probably start referring to him as the Black Hawk now. And now we have a very, very large problem that presents itself to only us and not the rest of Orange Star." Beauregard turned his back to Glenn. "It's very possible that the last enemy fighter taken out in the conflict over Krasst carried Syerri Sven. Seeing she had been killed, Kailaff Boldigh, mourning her, immediately called for his squadron to retreat. But, Glenn. . ."  
  
Glenn eyed Beauregard carefully as the man continued to speak, his voice more grim than Glenn could ever remember it being. "Boldigh has been in combat against you before this morning. It's probably safe to say he remembered the lightning bolt emblems signifying your squadron on your aircraft today, as did Zodo Gallow and the rest of the enemy pilots. Kailaff Boldigh will most certainly be seeking you out, and when I say you, I do indeed mean you, Glenn Gordon.  
  
"Boldigh's favorite way of taking out enemy fighters is by doing research. Almost every time he goes into combat against his enemies, his goal is to seek out the leader and dispose of him as soon as possible. It's not a bad strategy, since a squadron without a leader isn't of much use during combat. And considering your rank is by your last name on your aircraft, and taking into account that no one else in the squadron has a rank equal or higher to that of yours, I'd assume he knows exactly who the leader of the Thunderbolts is, Lieutenant Gordon. He knew who it was three months ago and he knows who it is now."  
  
A curse escaped Glenn under his breath. Trying to find the right words to answer with weren't easy. Such a startling revelation would have impaired any normal man for a moment or two, but Glenn got right down to business. Standing around looking like one had just seen a ghost wouldn't help anything. "If only I'd known sooner. Maybe Knives would still be around."  
  
Beauregard eyed Glenn carefully. "Would it truly have made a difference if you had known or not? Boldigh is one of the best pilots in the world."  
  
"Well, I would have at least tried to take him out!" Glenn snapped. "It wouldn't have hurt to try!"  
  
"Are you sure about that?" Beauregard asked quietly. "If I remember correctly, his entire squadron converged on Knives. Would you have been able to take them all out, Glenn? If you worked to the best to your ability, would you have been able to save Knives if you had known Boldigh goes after squadron leaders?"  
  
Glenn paused, growing silent.  
  
"No," he admitted, "I guess not."  
  
Beauregard stood there a moment longer, then motioned with his old hand. "Come on, we'll talk more at the infirmary. I want to make sure you're better than you say you are."  
  
---  
  
The day dragged on with the Thunderbolts getting physically checked over and giving their sides of the stories to Commander Beauregard and other Orange Star officials over what had happened at Krasst. Tuxedo's over-the- top description of the scenario had been undoubtedly the most vivid, considering the man's rather ill-put way with words and notable language at times, but everyone's feelings toward the battle was more or less the same as one another's: Nightmarish.  
  
Glenn hadn't spent much time describing what he'd seen through his own eyes, not particularly feeling it to be necessary anymore. He had gone back to the pilot's wing much earlier than anyone else to try and get some much-needed-and-deserved rest. Not that it would matter much - Tux would probably get back sometime soon afterwards and start the longest conversation with Glenn either of them would ever be engaged in, provided the loud, obnoxious fellow wasn't as dog-tired as the Thunderbolt flight leader was. Gordon didn't count on it, so he decided to stay one step ahead of his friend.  
  
He slumped down in his uncomfortable bed and layed there a moment, staring at the ceiling. Falling asleep these days was never as easy as it had been before he'd rejoined the air force. That blathering roommate of his didn't make things any easier, either. Glenn wondered sometimes if going to all the trouble sneakin off-base, spending the night in some smelly hotel, and coming back at four in the morning to keep from getting caught would get him more sleep than it would if he spent the night with a roommate like Tux.  
  
Minutes passed. Glenn's mind began to wander, mostly towards a million things at once, as usual. Eventually, these million things sorted themselves out, and one thought took the lead above the others.  
  
He still felt he could have saved Knives if he'd known of Boldigh's intent, of his strategy. Sure, he may not have been able to take out all the enemy fighters, but Boldigh's jet was particularly simple to pick out among the rest thanks to the hawk emblems. It was the only one worth targetting among the bunch, though all of Boldigh's comrades were ones to watch out for. As long as he had folks like Tuxedo, Bubba, and Rainey by his side, he'd never lose.  
  
That's right. He'd never lose as long as he had them with him. The exchange still stood strong. They'd watch out for him if he watched out for them.  
  
At least, he hoped so.  
  
Tux came in through the door maybe thirty minutes after Glenn had first fallen into bed like a bag of rocks. He swaggered up to his own uncomfortable-looking pile of rough fluff and jumped into it, switching on the small six-inch television all the pilots had access to in their wings. Of course, they only got local channels, but in some death-defying way or another, Tux had somehow finagled with the television and was able to get a load of cable channels with it. Glenn never thought to ask how or why. Immediately, the noisy old weirdo switched the very boring-looking public access channel to that of cartoons and turned the volume up. "Hey, Glenn, doesn't that cowardly dog thing's freaked-out expressions remind you of Bubba when he's laughing? Glenn?"  
  
Tux turned over in the bed and looked at Glenn. "Ah, hell! You're asleep already? It's only eleven. . ." And he channeled his attention right back onto the annoying little television, actually getting a spurt of care for a friend and turning the volume down ever so slightly.  
  
From his bed, the pretending-to-sleep Glenn couldn't help but crack an unseen smile. The exchange did indeed stand firm.  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
This one took some time getting up, yes, but my attention keeps switching from this to video games. I'm sure you all have this problem. Some of you, at least. Hope you enjoyed this mild chapter, and I'll try to get the next one in. Keep them reviews flowing, if you want - They're very helpful. Oh, and before I forget, here's another special "thank you" (I hate the term "shout-out") to Dr. Bross for the very helpful e-mail he responded to mine with. Thanks much, bud. It definitely helped.  
  
(Sonic X debuts in the U.S. on Fox Box next Saturday morning. Don't forget! No, I have no particular reason for saying this other than the fact that Sonic kicks ass.) 


	10. The Thunder Rolls

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Ten: The Thunder Rolls~  
  
~----~  
  
The bright, pixelated screen showered with flowers of destruction and the occasional appearence of a very plain-looking black fighter jet. In total, there were eight of them in the simulation program as the Thunderbolts ran what was known as the 'Cyclone' scenario. A less-than-popular mission, the 'Cyclone' was already becoming the most dreaded scenario the flight-combat simulations the Reagan Air Base had to offer. And today, the Thunderbolts all flew right in the middle of it.  
  
There weren't any teams. In this scenario, it was all pilots for themselves. The 'Cyclone,' named for being an enormous battle tank that literally walked on four legs at an amazing speed with normal tank-and- ballistic-missile strike capabilities, strolled onward down on the ground, apparently taking its sweet little time as it headed for whatever Orange Star railroad base it was intending to target with its deadly payload once it got within close enough range. Whoever took out the Cyclone first was more or less deemed the winner, but that wouldn't matter much. Beauregard had already informed the squadron that they were to take on a whole platoon of Cyclones sometime in the next few simulation sessions.  
  
Of course, the 'Cyclone' simulation was a necessary one. These days, the technology was just too great to not have to practice for something like this. Commander Beauregard and the Thunderbolts all reluctantly agreed without saying that someday, for all they knew, they may have to face powerful walking tanks very similar to the Cyclone. The risk was just too large, but if - or perhaps when - it happened, they'd at least be a little ready for it.  
  
The simulation turned out to be a terribly working one for all the pilots. Cassie had ended up being the winner, with Tuxedo rounding out the second overall best score while Achmed brought up third. Glenn Gordon had tied with Fel Banon for fourth best score, mostly because the guy had been absolutely dogging him the entire time. Every time Glenn had tried to do something, anything at all, whether it was fly casually, engage someone or something, or just try and figure out what the hell was going on around him, Fel Banon had not left him alone the entire time. Whenever Glenn looked around in the simulation cockpit at the many bright screens surrounding him, the very bland, artificial enemy fighter recognized by the computer as Fel's had always been right there, mostly anywhere the Thunderbolt flight leader had looked.  
  
Eventually, Glenn had gotten frustrated enough with the tenacious man to make a mistake, and Fel had automatically taken advantage of this, switching his simu-fighter's weapons over to guns and giving Glenn's imaginary jet a fat load of undesired lead. Immediately, Glenn had cursed out loud - something he'd grown very ashamed of doing as of late, now that he was the flight leader - and had outright asked Fel Banon, to put it mildly, what flaming malfunction had rotted the pilot's brain capacity.  
  
Fel Banon had not seemed terribly impressed nor amused at the time, and after the simulations, he'd stepped right up to Glenn's video cockpit. "I do hope that next time you engage me in another of these meaningless duels in the simulations, you'll treat yourself and your squadron members with more respect, in both flying and vocal terms."  
  
"What?" Glenn had frustratedly yelled. "You're the one who started that duel! Hell, I didn't even respond to your actions in the sim! You were the one dogging me like you were having a seizure or somethin'!"  
  
"One can't help but wonder why exactly you were chosen to be the leader of this squadron," Fel Banon had calmly responded, paying no real large amounts of attention to the very angry pilot's accusations. "Your temper will eventually be your downfall."  
  
"Don't talk that way to me! You're not the one in charge of this squadron! I'm the leader of this squadron!" And Glenn had instantly realized how foolish he felt while the words had flown out of his mouth as though they weren't an actual part of him. He wasn't supposed to act this way - It just wasn't like him. Immediately he turned a very red color, from both anger with himself & Banon and from embarrassment.  
  
He had quickly discovered that part of what Fel Banon had been saying was true, and quite stunning. This wasn't how a leader was supposed to act. A leader had to be bold, and act with courage, dignity, intelligence, and a blue thousand other wonderful things that Glenn knew he didn't have within him. As far as he knew, he had maybe courage, but that was about as useful as a spatula in an out-house. Courage wouldn't help an armless pgymy stop a locomotive by standing out on the tracks and waiting for it to come to a halt, and as far as Glenn was concerned, courage wouldn't help him do any better at being a leader.  
  
But maybe it would. Courage had many different forms - Perhaps Glenn just needed to find his.  
  
He continued to think about it all through lunch, as he sat outside at the Reagan base's small recreational area with Tux and Bubba, both of whom sat there stuffing their faces with enormous peanut-butter-and-turkey sub sandwiches. Their apparent food didn't look terribly healthy, nor particularly stomach friendly or appetizing.  
  
"Hey, Tux," Bubba asked while Glenn sat there, staring off into space, thinking as usual, "what day is it?"  
  
Tux hesitated, then took one hand off his monster sandwich and jerked a thumb sideways towards the shining sun while he closed one eye, looking at the sky as though he were going through some elaborate ancient ritual that told him the exact date and time. "I reckon it's Tuesday. Yup, Tuesday. Not Monday or Wed-ness-day or Hannakuh Day, no sir, it's gotta be Tuesday."  
  
Bubba smirked, quickly looking very annoyed at Tux's sarcastic response. He reached over and grabbed some of the turkey out of the widely-grinning pilot's sandwich, immediately getting very put-out commentary. "Hey! Dang, man. When was the last time you washed your hands? Now I can't eat this thing, 'cause for all I know you have sephilapossumitus or somethin'."  
  
It was right then that Fel Banon stepped up to their table, carrying something that undoubtedly looked better for one's internal system. The man had better taste in food than Tux or Bubba, Glenn would give him that much.  
  
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, mostly to Glenn, expressionless.  
  
"Yeah," Tux blurted before Glenn could utter a single word, "he does mind."  
  
Considering Tux was Glenn's best friend in the squadron, and now possibly anywhere else, it didn't come as unexpected that the obnoxious-but-friendly guy would back him up in most any situation his flight leader got into. Glenn welcomed Tux's support, but would have preferred to handle Fel Banon on his own. He got to doing so before Tux ended up speaking for him more. For all he knew, Fel would dare Glenn to eat a trio of running chainsaws, and the last thing the flight leader really needed was for Tux to get full of himself and declare himself Gordon's show-running manager.  
  
"Why?" Glenn asked, successfully ignoring Tux's annoyed response to the new, hot-shot pilot standing before their table.  
  
Fel Banon's expression showed that he seemed slightly surprised at something. "Why? We're wing-mates. As far as I knew, wing-mates stuck together."  
  
"Not in this squadron, pal!" Tux spat. "Around here, we do things Glenn's way! It's his way or the runway!"  
  
"Tux," Glenn muttered, waving a hand for the guy to close his fat trap, "will you just shuddap a min-"  
  
Now Bubba was starting in. "Yeah, newbie! Go bother those dingbats back in Heartbreak Squadron. If you want any respect around here, you'll have to earn it, so stop bein' such a pain the ass to Glenn!"  
  
Glenn coughed. "Guys."  
  
"Well," Fel Banon growled, "perhaps if Lieutenant Gordon's actions were a little more concievable in the simulations, HE'D earn some respect from ME."  
  
Tux stood up, anger flaring in his eyes. "You lousy, no-good, worthless, cheatin', lyin', snake-in-the-grassin'-" And this flurry of random, inane adjectives continued on.  
  
"Maybe if SOMEone would quit doggin' him in the sims, then maybe SOMEone would actually get some respect HIMSELF!" Bubba yelled.  
  
This in turn caused an even louder vocal conflict to sprout among the three Thunderbolt pilots. Some of the officials inside the Reagan command center looked out their large, glass-panel windows at the very noisy argument coming from the small rec area. A sweatdrop ran down the side of Glenn's face. The very last thing he needed at the moment was to get dragged off to the stockade by the MPs, and worse, have to stay there while these three monkey-brains bickered for no real reason other than the fact that Tux had a big mouth, Fel had a big ego, and Bubba had both.  
  
"Hey!" Glenn shouted, standing himself. "Knock it the hell off!"  
  
All three of the argumentive combatants instantly silenced, staring at him.  
  
"We're supposed to be a damned team here," he growled, glaring at all three of them, "and what're we doin'? We're sitting here, arguing with each other! We're at war here! We can't bicker amongst ourselves, we've got bigger fish to fry! We're supposed to be helping each other out, not picking fights with one another. Calm the frickin' heck down."  
  
Fel glared at him. "I only asked to sit down, and in return, I am insulted. I won't grant my company to you three any longer, and I hope it stays that way for the rest of our time together."  
  
"Maybe if you weren't such a douchebag-" Tux started.  
  
"I said, shut up!" Glenn yelled, glaring at his friend.  
  
Fel Banon sneered down at Glenn. "Is this the way you intend to run your squadron? By telling your wing-mates to shut up when they get out of line? Perhaps we should continue this discussion with Commander Beauregard, so he can see exactly how nice a job you're doing at keeping the 207th together and, as modestly as possible for you, sane."  
  
An ice-cold look was shot at Fel Banon from Glenn, but still, he couldn't help but admit the truth in what the newest member of Thunderbolt Squadron had said. Glenn's face color took on a reddish hue as for the second time that day Fel Banon had struck a chord within him. The feeling inside him reeked of ridiculousness, of cowardice that told Glenn he wasn't cut out for being a leader of an air force squadron.  
  
"I'm sorry," he blurted without at first realizing it. Immediately he wondered why on Wars World he would ever say such a thing to a guy like Fel Banon  
  
"Sorry won't cut it when we're all up there in the sky fighting," Fel Banon muttered, crossing his arms. "If your squadron doesn't respect you by the time that fighting rolls around, then we are all, to put it bluntly, more condemned than you want to admit. Get your act together, little Thunderbolt, for everyone's sake."  
  
And he walked away, leaving the three pilots to stand there, stunned. Glenn soon sat back down and put a hand on his forehead, obviously frustrated. The other two quickly sat down, following his suit.  
  
Glenn sighed. How utterly embarrassing. "I feel like I just accidentally blew up a science lab, times maybe a thousand."  
  
"Glenn," Tuxedo said, "don't listen to what that jackass tells you. You're a great leader. Hell, you saved alot of our behinds over Krasst."  
  
"No, he's right. I'm not doing a good job. I've still got so much to learn." Glenn leaned back on the bench he sat on at the table, but couldn't go very far back, since he didn't exactly have any desire to go falling backwards onto the grass. "Even after all this time, there's still so much I need to understand about being a leader, or even being a wing- mate."  
  
"No one can learn everything, Glenn." Bubba glanced off to where Fel Banon had stormed away. "Even the greatest minds in the world are always ever- learning. You've just gotta accept this about yourself."  
  
The Thunderbolt flight leader ran a hand through his brown hair, already feeling a wave of exhaustion come about him, even though it was hardly noon. "But I just don't know enough, that's my problem. Banon is right. What if I screw up when one of you guys up there in the air needs me?"  
  
"Glenn, man, we stick together, remember? Orange Star folks stick together, Orange Star military forces stick together, and friends stick together." Tux crossed his arms assuredly, and his big mouth added something that probably didn't need to be said, but it was still welcome. "That last part's the most important one, I think."  
  
Glenn couldn't help but grin at his friends. "I'd think so."  
  
---  
  
A strong south-westerly wind had no effect on the Black Hole officer's powerful suit of armor. The very ambiguous creature moved from one area to the next at the Fate's Point Aerial Brigade base, shouting orders to random troops and personell as though it were a general in the midst of a losing battle - Thankfully not so, at the moment.  
  
The armored officer found Kailaff Boldigh sitting alone with a few members of his squadron, talking amongst themselves ever so quietly. They hardly seemed to be making any noise. If one looked close enough, it was actually simple to tell they were keeping more of an eye on what was going around them than on themselves.  
  
The officer stared at Boldigh, cradling its giant gun-arm in its left, metal hand.  
  
"Commanding Officer Flak wishes to speak with you," it said, its voice sounding as though it were trying to gargle while somebody choked it. "Come with me."  
  
Boldigh did not respond.  
  
The very ugly officer shifted some of its weight, so the gun-arm pointed more at the renegade squadron leader. Its large, red eyes narrowed into slits. "The fact that you have killed dozens of your enemies in combat does not make you this world's leading member of society."  
  
"Hundreds," Boldigh corrected, smiling at it pleasantly, ultimately sending a vile spark of fear down the alien officer's very unnatural spine.  
  
"Come with me at once," the creature gurgled again, flicking an extremely out-of-place tongue rapidly from wherever its mouth was. "Commanding Officer Flak is, as you have seen for yourself, not the most patient being currently stationed on this world. I personally would advise-"  
  
Zodo Gallow stood to his feet from beside Boldigh and waved at the alien officer with one of his gloved hands. "Get out of here, you glittery, tardy-gaited foot-licker! Kailaff Boldigh has no need of orders from the likes of a sorrowful sack of alien mesh like yourself!"  
  
Angrily, the officer again shifted its weight, pointing the gun-arm directly at Zodo Gallow. "Do not speak to ME in such a tone, Gallow! You forget that you and your squadron are heavily outnumbered here. Failure to take orders is not looked upon kindly by Commanding Officer Flak, nor our fearless leader. Perhaps you'd like to send a complaint to him, yes?"  
  
Gallow hesitated. It was true that they were outnumbered. While many defectors to the Black Hole cause were most obviously welcomed, there was a very tense rivalry between the human defectors and the actual Black Hole alien forces themselves. It had apparently originated due to an attack on Black Hole forces in northern Orange Star, where a defector had pretended to join the Black Hole army only to blow himself up in the middle of their command station. That had not been easy on the now poor relationship between the humans and the aliens, but for the most part, the commanding officers and the 'fearless leader' himself never bothered to notice or care.  
  
"You will come with me, Boldigh, or I will shoot you and your miserable squadron where you are," the officer challenged. "I grow tired of this, and commanding pale-skinned meatbags such as yourselves is not the most wonderful assignment I could have been given."  
  
Boldigh still sat there, but not for long. Eventually, he stood up from where he sat, and walked over next to the officer. "Lead the way."  
  
"Yes, E.T., lead the way," Gallow grumbled, feeling himself to be rather lucky when the officer ignored him.  
  
The officer led Boldigh around the enormous base, eventually coming to the large command center after ten minutes of non-stop walking. It gestured for Boldigh to head in, still keeping its gun-arm mostly aimed in Boldigh's direction, or close to him anyway. The Black Hole pilot paused for a moment, eyeing the officer who returned the ill gaze fully, and he stepped through the door into the command center.  
  
He knew the way to where the Commanding Officer was. Down a hall, make a left, second door on the right. Considering he'd had to converse with the Commanding Officer before, Boldigh had quickly put the directions into his memory.  
  
He entered the large office room, filled with maps, computers, mostly anything Boldigh didn't care about at the moment. Commanding Officer Flak stood at a table towards the side of the room, noticed Boldigh, and lumbered toward him. Flak was a giant. Boldigh had always thought himself to be rather large, but if that was so, Flak was literally an elephant. At times, Boldigh felt he had the brains of one to accompany the size.  
  
"So there you are! Where have you been?" Flak bellowed.  
  
Boldigh didn't respond, which didn't come as unexpected to Flak.  
  
"Never mind," the giant man grumbled, "sit down."  
  
Again, Boldigh didn't respond and he hesitated, preferring to stand. This caused Flak's face to turn a maddening, reddish color. If there was one thing the big man didn't like, it was people who didn't take orders from him at once.  
  
"Sit down," Flak growled, his whisper more final than any scream.  
  
Boldigh paused, and did so, causing whatever color that had been in Flak's big face to return. The giant Commanding Officer stepped backwards and sat on the table, causing it to creak loudly under the sudden strain it had to carry. If Boldigh had one emotion at that moment, it was feeling pity towards the table.  
  
Flak crossed his tree-sized arms and glared at the pilot from under his helmet and goggles.  
  
"Do you know why you're here?" Yes, of course Boldigh knew why he was here. Would Flak get a response? Of course not. "You failed at Krasst, that's why."  
  
Neither of them said a word for a few seconds.  
  
"You know what the penalty is in this army for failure."  
  
Again, no words were spoken for nearly ten seconds. Finally, Flak raised his head slightly, giving Boldigh what was coming to him. "But the failure belonged to our ground forces. . . Not you. They have already paid the price for failure by Orange Star's hands."  
  
Fearlessly, Boldigh stared up at Flak, and what he said next would have gotten anyone other than himself killed right there on the spot. "Get to the point, before I leave."  
  
Flak's expression turned downright hideous as his face scrunched up angrily, but he was seemingly able to restrain his temper for the time being. "You are the best pilot in the world, as you and many others say. You also carry on your shoulders the greatest squadron in the world."  
  
Boldigh blinked once, possibly trying to say yes. There was no way to know.  
  
"But how is it that you and your marvelous squadron were bested in combat above Krasst? How is it that some petty Orange Star fighter squadron was able to take on yours and win, even when you had the advantage of overpowering numbers?" Spittle flew from Flak's mouth whenever he spoke, and it was beginning to get on Boldigh's nerves. "Are you really as good as you say you are? Or are you perhaps nothing but a running-down has-been now?"  
  
A crack showed through Kailaff Boldigh's tight outer frame as he cracked one of his index fingers with his thumb. His eyes seemed to be wandering towards nowhere in particular as he remembered what had happened at Krasst. The thought that there were pilots as good as his in the world was literally inconcievable.  
  
"I see it's hard for you to accept. Have no fear. You'll have another chance against them."  
  
Boldigh paused, and looked up at Flak blankly. "What are you saying?"  
  
"Your new assignment is to find this squadron that bested you and take them out, sending a message to the world that you are the best. You represent Black Hole, and when you're the best, we're the best."  
  
The Black Hole pilot hesitated, his mind going through possible future scenarios.  
  
"When do I begin this assignment?"  
  
Flak grinned. It was a vile expression, one that rivaled Boldigh's grin for outright most chilling. "At once. Seek out this squadron, and when you find them, Kailaff Boldigh, destroy every last one of them. Leave no trace of them whatsoever."  
  
Boldigh's face seemingly tried to smile, but nothing came, which Flak found rather unnerving, despite the circumstances. The pilot stood from his seat, and began to make his way towards the door, feeling the conversation to be done with. He'd get started on this new assignment as soon as was possible.  
  
"Boldigh," Flak suddenly said.  
  
Boldigh stopped at the door and turned around.  
  
"How are you going to begin this assignment? What are you planning to do?"  
  
The fearless Black Hole pilot stood there a moment, thinking, and he responded with what he always said whenever asked that very question. He had said it three months earlier, and he said it now.  
  
"I will take them by their hearts." And he walked out of the room.  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
I had to hurry and get this chapter up since our cable is getting turned off today. Not enough cash. So, yeah, there'll probably be a little wait before the next one. Thanks for reading, and reviews are just as welcome as always. 


	11. Ambush at Fog Valley

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Eleven: Ambush at Fog Valley~  
  
~----~  
  
Marcus Madison's funeral had not been pleasant.  
  
Glenn could remember the last funerals he'd been to. They had been for the many pilots killed in the attack on the Clinton Air Base in Green Earth, caused by Blue Moon. The problem was that back then, those funerals had been pleasantly elaborate and lengthy, mainly because when they'd taken place, it turned out Blue Moon was not the true enemy of Green Earth. The officials overseeing the pilots' funerals had been able to provide a pleasant-enough occasion at the time. Now, Marcus Madison had barely been buried before everyone had to go rushing back to what they were doing, since the entire continent was being plagued by war. It just didn't seem fitting to Glenn.  
  
At least the others had enjoyed theirselves as much as they could - It was a funeral, after all. Bubba had literally eaten all the food, and Glenn had been able to let some of the air out of Tux's head and get him to actually converse about something sane.  
  
"Tux," Glenn had asked, merely out of curiosity, "if you weren't in the air force, what would you be doin'?"  
  
Tuxedo had actually gotten serious for a moment as he'd stood there by a tall tree the two of them were under for shade purposes, and had answered it after a good five seconds or so. "I dunno, I sort of always wanted to be a fireman."  
  
"Really?" Glenn hadn't sounded very caught off guard. He could imagine crazy old Tuxedo Ral becoming a daredevil or human bullet shield, something psychotic just so the guy could have his usual death-wishes and thrills. Glenn couldn't imagine the weirdo being without them. But then Tux had asked Glenn something he certainly wasn't prepared for.  
  
"How 'bout you?" the pilot wanted to know.  
  
Glenn stood there. And stood there. Sure, he'd been a teacher just before re-enlisting, but he'd never found the job of providing education to snot- nosed high school punks all too enjoyable.  
  
"I don't know," he eventually stated, causing Tux's eyebrows to shoot up in confusion.  
  
"You don't know? You must have had a childhood dream or something."  
  
The lead Thunderbolt had shrugged his shoulders. "I never gave it much thought. I never found anything I really thought I'd be comfortable doing for the rest of my life."  
  
"And that's why you re-enlisted," Tux assumed.  
  
Glenn hadn't answered.  
  
Now that he had a chance to think about it better since he wasn't around noisy old Tux, up where he was most alone in the cockpit of his Orange Star fighter jet, he gave it some more thought. Sure, it was likely he'd re- enlisted since he had nothing better going for him. But there was also the chance that he'd be here for the rest of his life, however long or short it may be. The thought didn't fill him with as much pleasance as he thought it may have.  
  
His head, covered in the oxygen helmet he wore, craned downwards from the cockpit, towards the convoy they were escorting. It was a long line of APCs, rocket trucks, recon trucks, and the like, all rolling along at maybe thirty to forty miles an hour. The Thunderbolts were escorting the convoy from a base near Krasst farther north, where the enemy Black Hole forces had begun to crumble slightly from the push of Orange Star's main Commanding Officers. Still, there looked to be no end to the onslaught of enemy troops, so Orange Star had to take all the advantages they had.  
  
The convoy and the Thunderbolts would be meeting up with a second convoy & another squadron as well that had gone ahead from another southern-based base at around the same time Glenn and his team had split Reagan.  
  
Glenn sighed. Would he be doing missions like this the rest of his life? He'd never liked escort missions when he'd been employed under the Green Earth flag, and they still had him doing it even in Orange Star.  
  
He already didn't care for these missions very much, but the biggest problem with this one was that the convoy had to roll through a large glen covered completely in a dense fog, appropriately named Fog Valley. If they went around the valley, it would add two days to their journey, and Orange Star felt that was too long to go without reinforcements for their main forces on the front.  
  
Fog of war, Glenn thought.  
  
That's what they liked to refer to it as, for some particular reason the pilot didn't know of. Probably because the worst fog was always in places of major historic battles or something. He didn't know, nor did he necessarily care. All he knew was that fog of war wasn't something to underestimate, especially when one's life was being threatened.  
  
This worried Glenn. They were heading right into the deepest parts of mostly unexplored territory in Orange Star because of the dense fog it was completely covered in, and for all they knew someone unfriendly had taken up residence there. It was very possible that none of them would return from this mission because they couldn't see their attackers.  
  
Since the convoy was far too slow to keep up with the fighters above them, the Thunderbolts had to rotate their positions every so often, usually being forced to circle around the long stretch of Orange Star vehicles on the ground. Glenn found the routine acceptable, but would have preferred it if his squadron were all together. A team taken apart was, after all, a team taken apart.  
  
An hour passed. Glenn checked his fuel gauge. The fighters all had more than enough fuel to make it to their destination and back, but the same couldn't be said for the convoy. They would have to stop somewhere along the way to get gascans out of the APCs and refuel. That would give the enemy just enough time to. . .  
  
Glenn sighed and shook his head rapidly to clear his thoughts. He needed to think positive.  
  
Minutes went by. The area around the convoy and Thunderbolt Squadron was beginning to lessen in their field of view. The fog was obviously close, and they were already in some of it. Glenn strained to see farther ahead and realized they were beginning to head directly into the fog. It would only be maybe a minute or so more before they entered the valley. "Maintain visual scanning. Keep an eye on your radars for the second convoy."  
  
The fog surrounded them. It became incredibly difficult to keep an eye on the first convoy. The squadron above them had to fly closer and closer to the ground in order to keep a bead on them, but Glenn didn't want them flying too close. One of the last things they needed was for the convoy to go deaf and get themselves lost.  
  
I can hardly see the damned ground! Glenn thought angrily. For all he knew, he or one of his flight-mates would go flying smack into the side of a mountain because they couldn't see the blasted thing.  
  
"We've gotta get out of this fog as soon as we can, Glenn!" he heard Tristan say over the radio.  
  
"We can't abandon the second convoy," Glenn sighed. "There's not much we can do until we meet up with them. Just sit tight, and everything will be okay."  
  
The convoy continued on for around twenty more minutes through the fog. Through those twenty minutes, Glenn began to get a very bad feeling about the situation he and his squadron were in. There were too many possible future scenarios for them to get tangled up in. One of them could crash right into the ground or a mountainside without realizing it. He could lose communication with his squadron, his friends. They could all get lost and not know it for perhaps an hour.  
  
But the thing that worried Glenn most was that there was still no sign of the second convoy.  
  
He looked towards the ground as best to his current ability. The convoy they were escorting appeared to have all stopped, and he could see Orange Star troops rushing out of them to refuel all the vehicles. "Okay, 'Bolts, they're refueling. This'll take some time, so just hang on here. Keep your courses steady."  
  
The Thunderbolts all began to circle around the convoy though not without effort, but even still, anxiousness filled Glenn. Something was wrong.  
  
"This is the meeting point, isn't it, Glenn?" Rainey Banker sounded just as concerned as he felt.  
  
"It is," he acknowledged, after a few seconds. Immediately he wanted to know what was going on here. "Tux, take Tristan 'n' Cassie and scout out the area for any sign of the second convoy. They may have gotten lost in this lousy fog."  
  
"You got it, Glenn." The Thunderbolt flight leader watched Tuxedo's plane cautiously take on a western direction as it shot away from what they were escorting. "Follow me, you two."  
  
Glenn kept his eyes on the three fighter jets as best he could until he could no longer get a bead on them, and turned back to the task at hand. "Everyone who's staying with me, keep your eyes peeled, and good. We don't need to blow something up just because we can't see what it is."  
  
Over five more minutes flew by. Glenn's stomach began to attract butterflies. He usually felt this quesy whenever he was especially worried over something. The hideous feeling never really came up when he was in action, most of the time, but right now, Glenn's stomach felt as though it were the inside of a cement mixer. The other convoy should have been here, and the same could be said for the other squadron. Glenn seriously hoped they all were just late.  
  
"Saber Squadron, do you copy?" It was Tux's voice, but it was rather scratchy. He had a better chance of coming in contact with the other escort squadron since the fog was obviously hammering at the Thunderbolts' communication links.  
  
Glenn didn't hear a response. Although it was likely that communication was just bad, he still had the feeling Tux wouldn't be getting one from the Sabers anytime soon.  
  
"Saber Squadron," Tux eventually grumbled again, "do you copy?"  
  
There was obviously still no comeback to the question, since Glenn heard the guy growling to himself over the radio. The search continued on for a bit longer, though certainly too long for Glenn to feel any better about what was going on. The fog was beginning to make him feel claustrophobic. He wanted to get out of it, to see the pleasant blue skies again. He couldn't wait to get this horrible mission over with.  
  
"Glenn," he suddenly heard Tux say, "we've found the second convoy."  
  
"Good," Glenn uttered, a bit of relief flowing through him. It was about time. "And the squadron?"  
  
"Yeah, we've found them, too." There was something in the way Tux spoke that didn't make things seem all too fine for Glenn all of a sudden.  
  
"What happened?" he asked, fearing the answer already. "Did they just get lost or something?"  
  
"No," Tux responded as calmly as he could, "they're gone, Glenn. They got totally blown away. They must have run into trouble."  
  
Glenn Gordon's eyes widened like a pair of dinner plates. "You three, get back here at once! Everyone, keep an eye on your radars!"  
  
His order came just in time. Not a second later, Bubba Boggs' frantic voice came over the radio. "I've got radar confirmation on unknown units! Glenn, are you picking them up?"  
  
"Yeah," Glenn responded when he'd spared a quick look to his own radar. "I've got them on mine, so everyone-"  
  
"LOOK OUT!" an anonymous Thunderbolt yelled.  
  
Glenn's head shot towards the front of his cockpit. Through the fog, he could barely see something coming directly at him, and at perhaps the same speed he was travelling at. "Holy-"  
  
Unconciously his hand shoved his control stick hard towards starboard, causing the sickening, sudden force of gravity to nearly knock him out right there as blood rushed from one side of his body to the other. Whatever was shooting at his own fighter seemed to pull the same maneuver, and the two craft came within merely fifteen feet of each other. The sonic boom from the other fighter resounded against Glenn's thick, powerful canopy, causing him to shudder from both it and what had just happened. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted another Thunderbolt and unknown unit missing each other by an even scarier margin.  
  
And almost before he could even realize it, the battle began.  
  
Bright streaks of yellow shot up and around his cockpit, a constant blur beginning from the ground. Thankfully, the anti-air units on the ground weren't aiming at Glenn. Obviously their targets had just blown by he and his comrades, whatever they were. The Thunderbolt leader made it his first priority to find out - up close and personal.  
  
But even before he sent his aircraft into a tight bank around, he suspected he knew what the alliance of these people - or things - was. He only needed maybe two or three seconds to find out, but the answer came to him quickly enough.  
  
His initial assumption was correct. "They're Black Hole fighters!"  
  
It all lasted less than a minute, despite the entire thing feeling as though it took hours to complete in Glenn's view.  
  
A hideous explosion tore through the skies as the first casualty of the fight sounded out like some giant bell making its presence known, and whatever was left of the Black Hole craft slammed into the ground, barely missing the Orange Star convoy.  
  
"How many have we got here?" Glenn asked to no one in particular, not expecting an immediate response. The battle could be over before anyone even got a guesstimated number in their head.  
  
Obviously, it took some time for someone to respond, Fel Banon's less-than- respectful tone sounding in over the radio, instantly causing Glenn to cringe slightly. "I count four left, Gordon."  
  
Five? Banon must have been blind. That was an awful shallow number for a fighter squadron. Something seemed out of place to Glenn, as though the pieces weren't all accounted for yet so the puzzle could come together. In any case, not thinking anything but the combat to be of significant importance at the moment, the Thunderbolt flight leader shoved his control every which way as he attempted to hone in on one of the enemy Black Hole fighters.  
  
One of them shot off from the main pack and careened dowards in a spiral towards the convoy, prompting Glenn to follow suit at once. He didn't want one of these winged buckets of spare car parts trying to mess up their mission before he could realize it. "I'm on the breaker. Keep swarming them, everyone."  
  
The enemy fighter that had broken off from its allies apparently did not notice it had a pursuer until Glenn was able to pop off a few shots from his Orange Star fighter's machineguns. None of the rounds made contact, though - Glenn was simply having trouble keeping the other craft within his sight because of the damned fog.  
  
This stuff is gonna be the death of us, he thought to himself.  
  
In an artificial show of bravery, the enemy fighter Glenn chased suddenly began another twist, inverted towards the ground as it attempted to actually fire a missile at the convoy while flying upside down. This would allow the craft to get a better viewpoint of its targets on the ground, Glenn realized, and he quickly tried to discern the enemy from doing so.  
  
Pulling back on the red trigger situated at his index finger, more gunfire ripped from the powerful machineguns the Orange Star fighter posessed. Glenn wasn't necessarily taking the precious time to check his aiming, though - This was classic stormtrooper material. Some of the rounds from the gun ended up missing by what probably looked to be miles to Glenn. Even still, suppresive fire, the Thunderbolt leader felt, was a good way to take the lead in a fight early on.  
  
It worked, apparently. The Black Hole fighter twisted around again and cut off its desired attack on the convoy and raced upwards again, but Glenn still hung on it like an annoying bee. Just a few more seconds, and he'd be able to send this sucker back to where it belonged - A junkyard.  
  
"I'm hit!"  
  
A cold sweat broke out all over Glenn's body as his attention fully careened from the Black Hole fighter to the panic-stricken voice of his comrade. "Rainey!"  
  
His eyes caught Rainey's plane as it plumetted towards the ground. An enormous, ominous hole had somehow appeared smack in the middle of the fighter's right wing, and the plane was spiraling towards the opposite side, generally seeming out of control. Glenn couldn't take his eyes off it. "Eject!"  
  
As soon as he'd yelled the lone warning, he could see Rainey's canopy falter a moment, then literally dissolve at the pieces as the doomed craft's pilot activated the ejection sequence. A small figure burst out of the top of it, but the fighter was still spiraling badly, and it appeared as though Rainey ended up being taken for quite the unenjoyable-looking spin through the air as she attempted to engage her parachute.  
  
Even before she'd landed on the ground, parachute or not, Glenn was already barking orders to the convoy. "Somebody get over there and help her! Now!"  
  
Gunfire tore at the wings of his own plane and Glenn could clearly see the bright streaks of death blowing past him. In his panic, one of the enemy fighters had been able to come around on him sooner than he could realize, and Glenn immediately threw the control stick hard to starboard, making a note to refrain from cursing loudly this time.  
  
A great sense of urgency overcoming him, he again threw the stick around, this time in the opposite direction when he realized that the enemy aircraft was still with him, and not letting loose anytime soon. Glenn would have been having a much easier time with this had he not been forced to carry the extra worries that the fog naturally instilled in his soul. He had to keep one eye on the canopy and where the plane was headed, the other on his cockpit's instruments, and could only spare bursts of glances around in his seat towards where he thought the enemy fighter was from time to time.  
  
Shoving the throttle forward, Glenn pitched his fighter into a steep dive, then brought it right back up and to port in a spin. This particular action seemed to boggle the pursuing Black Hole craft's sensors or whatever ambiguous instrumentation it may have had for keeping track of its adversaries, and Glenn was able to begin a wide circle around it.  
  
But just as the circling between the two fighters had started, the enemy Black Hole craft made a jerky pitch upwards, attempting to come around on Glenn, inverted towards him.  
  
Glenn refused to let even a smirk occupy his expression. However good artificial intelligence was, it would never be the very same as the instincts of a human being's, as far as Glenn was concerned. He brought his own craft up, and easily bringing the parallel enemy fighter into his sights, let loose a flurry of gunfire.  
  
The Black Hole craft seemed to hesitate for the barest of moments as it absorbed the attacks, then instantly burst into numerous shards of flaming pieces - But Glenn was not immediately devoid of any problems. Now whatever was left of the burning piece of air junk was headed straight towards him. "Crap--!"  
  
The only logical option that would have come to mind provided Glenn wasn't as preoccupied as he was would be to slow his fighter down, shove the stick to the left or right, and hope for the best. He did so.  
  
Only a second later, the flaming wreckage of the former Black Hole fighter was behind him, having taken a one-way trip towards the dirt.  
  
"Phew," the pilot mumbled, not bothering to try and keep his sigh quiet over the radio.  
  
Allowing himself some breathing room, he again ratcheted the throttle up to full and took off towards where the main bunch still fought like a pack of wild hounds, despite the overwhelming odds towards Orange Star's favor. Glenn wanted this over with as soon as possible. For starters, he had no idea what Rainey's current condition was, nor whether or not she was even alive.  
  
This had to end soon, Glenn knew, so he quickly set out to help finish it up. Moving the stick carefully, he began to draw onto the backside of another enemy fighter, switching his weapons mechanism over to missiles. This would be easy enough. Then he and his squadron could get this lousy mission over with. "I've got-"  
  
Suddenly, without warning, another Orange Star jet flashed directly in front of his, apparently trying to get a missile lock on the Black Hole jet Glenn was pursuing. It literally occupied the Thunderbolt leader's entire frontal view, and it startled him so badly he instinctively pulled back on the yoke. Nevermind the fact he cursed out loudly, though he wasn't paying enough attention to realize it. "Who the hell just did that!?"  
  
"I've got this one, Glenn." It was the obvious voice of Fel Banon, as though the man were telling his leader something as orderly as 'go brush your teeth.'  
  
"Son of a jumpin'--!" Glenn yelled, completely forgetting his normal composure. "You could have killed me!"  
  
No real answer came from Banon, with the exception of a humph. If one looked closely enough, it was possible to see the steam emanating from Glenn's ears.  
  
The Thunderbolt leader was right back behind the Black Hole fighter soon enough, but his missile sights were being completely blocked by Fel Banon's craft. The man wanted the enemy kill for himself. Glenn couldn't figure out if that was what made him so angry, but it was probably just that Fel Banon was acting like a real dingbat.  
  
On more than one occasion as the three craft raced around the skies, Glenn knew he would have a wonderful shot that would probably end this hideous fiasco, but he couldn't risk taking it with Fel Banon pursuing the enemy fighter so closely. His trigger finger cried out to be used, but it wouldn't be happening as long as that idiot was there blocking him. Muscles bunched at the corners of Glenn's mouth as he grit his teeth in irritation with the pilot.  
  
Precious seconds passed. Glenn's anger began to reach breaking point. "Get out of the damned way, you bum!"  
  
"Just give me a little more time-"  
  
"You don't HAVE a little more time!" Glenn yelled. "If you're gonna take that thing out, DO IT NOW!"  
  
"Wait-" Fel Banon's craft edgiliy rocked back and forth as its pilot attempted to steadily close in to safe enough distance so that any attempted attack wouldn't miss.  
  
"COME ON, BANON!"  
  
The familiar bright streaks of light crowded Glenn's frontal vision. "Damn it!"  
  
In fury, as he broke off his own pursuit from the Black Hole craft due to enemy gunfire, Glenn watched Fel Banon shoot away in an opposite direction as well for similar reasons. He did his absolute best to contain his anger with both the other man and the situation he'd caused, but it didn't quite work the way he'd have liked it to. "What's wrong with you, Banon!?"  
  
No response came over the radio, with the exception of another agitated mumble sound. Fel was obviously too occupied with something now to respond, or he felt ashamed. Probably the former, Glenn assumed.  
  
Thankfully, Fel Banon's stunt didn't cost the team anything dear, besides some of their precious jet fuel. Tristan blew apart one Black Hole fighter, and Achmed took care of another. Glenn immediately called for a visual scan of the area, but the team didn't spot anymore enemy crafts, nor anything on radar, which wasn't of much use anyway because of the fog.  
  
"I guess that's it, then," Glenn said, not sounding overly amused with what had just happened. "Ground team, I want a report on Rainey Banker."  
  
"She's okay, Gordon. A little dizzy from the ride she took, but she's ay- oh-kay. Don't worry your little blushing face over her." Snickering ensued over the radio.  
  
Glenn's face turned a very red color, but not from embarrassment. He'd had just about enough of this mission and everything that had come along with it, and the last thing he honestly needed was the damned convoy making fun of his 'just-friends' relationship with Rainey Banker.  
  
"Form up, Thunderbolts," he said into the radio as soon as he'd calmed down mentally, "we need to get this mission over with. As soon as we're out of this fog and have gotten the convoy to the new base, we're heading home, and we're taking the scenic route."  
  
His eyes moved towards one plane in particular, causing them to narrow slightly. "And I need to have a talk with one of you as soon as we get back."  
  
---  
  
The Orange Star fighter squadron, while it had mostly cleaned up the scene, had not noticed its blatant mistake in leaving one Black Hole fighter alive.  
  
The craft shimmied this way and that way as it attempted to sort its visual sensors out after the battle while trying to trace its way home through the fog. Eventually, it exited the great cloud-like atmosphere and quickly set a course for its own home, flying at just over ten thousand feet above sea level.  
  
It wouldn't take terribly long to reach its destination. The Fate's Point base of Black Hole alliance loomed in the distance, along with the obvious, familiar structure still apparently under construction in the middle of the military area. The fighter's artificial intelligence paid no attention to the enormous dome building with the even larger, incomplete cannon sticking out of it, though, as its actual flight path was already predetermined.  
  
The craft landed soon enough and a swarm of Black Hole officers overtook it, fiddling and prodding at it with special gizmos and ambiguous machinery. Eventually, they extracted from its inner hull what looked to be some sort of compact disc and the lot of them went marching over to the nearest building, stepping inside at arrival.  
  
Inside, the lead trooper holding the disc plodded right up to the front table and stood there at attention. "Here is the camera recording that you desired."  
  
Kailaff Boldigh swung around in the chair he sat in, eyeing the trooper for a moment before snatching the disc out of the creature's armored, underlyingly moldy hands. "You are dismissed."  
  
The trooper hesitated as though it were expecting some sort of higher gratitude from the pilot. Boldigh only stared at it. Eventually, the trooper felt wise enough to simply leave without getting itself in more trouble than it wanted.  
  
Alone, Boldigh quickly inserted the disc into his computer terminal. A full-screen program consisting of the fighter's camera recordings popped into view on the monitor, prompting Boldigh to sit there and watch the entire battle that had occured with the Thunderbolts from the aircraft's point of view.  
  
If his instincts were correct, then this could be a decisive help in his search for the enemy squadron he mercilessly sought. Black Hole had cameras installed with optional live video feed for ground-based monitors on all of their planes, much like many fighters in Green Earth nowadays, mostly so they could keep track of any rogue jets whose programming had gone off the deep end and bring them back for maintenance. Boldigh had discovered this to be a great asset in his search.  
  
He'd forwarded past the first battle the fighter had been engaged in, presumably with one Saber Squadron, from the Orange Star's craft's squad emblems. The Sabers had all bitten the dust due to to their relative inexperience, and the convoy they were escorting hadn't lasted long.  
  
More of the same filled the screen after the fight had ended. Fog - Nothing but fog.  
  
But then something interesting filled the monitor. Another battle with an Orange Star squadron. Boldigh looked hard at the screen, trying to decipher the look of the emblems on the enemy fighters' wings.  
  
It came all too quickly.  
  
Lightning bolts.  
  
Immediately Boldigh forwarded the battle again, trying to find a conclusion to it. He was able to catch glimpses of explosions here and there, mostly from fellow Black Hole craft, and his eyes thinned ever so slightly. He studied all the information the camera feed gave him very carefully.  
  
Then, not wasting a second to stop and second-guess his own eyes, he rushed over to the map that sat on a table opposite to him.  
  
Scanning it, he quickly pointed out Fog Valley, where the combat had taken place. The first convoy the fighter had engaged had been headed north, from a south-westerly direction, as the omnidirectional navigational system the computer had relayed. Black Hole had not yet delved deep enough into the Macro region of Orange Star to completely know of all of the nation's air bases, but there were little patches of mountains and forests here and there that Boldigh felt would have made good places of hiding. But he was not concerned with this squadrn or its convoy.  
  
His eyes moved to the area south of Fog Valley. The second convoy had apparently been coming from the south, also headed north, so it was a safe bet the squadron that had been accompanying them had come from the same direction. On the map, there seemed to be a pleasant-enough looking cove, surrounding by mountains, just south of the big cloudy glen where the battles had occured. And Krasst wasn't too far from this particular cove itself.  
  
Boldigh stepped away from the table and looked out the window at the dark clouds that were beginning to hang over the Fate's Point base.  
  
I have found you all, he thought to himself.  
  
And now that this game of hide-and-seek has ended, I will destroy you.  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Yep - Another lame old "away-time" from this fic. First they shut off our cable, then days later we get it back. But right now, I can tell you this much: If you ever get one of those AOL free trial things in your mailbox, put it in a garbage bin and burn it. I tried to install one of them and bam, it literally destroys my entire system. Fluggs up EVERYthing. Thank goodness a family friend was able to save everything on the hard drive, so I can continue writing this thing. Anyway, I hope that's the last interruption I get until this thing has ended, which probably isn't too far off. I don't know. In any case, I'm glad you read it, and I hope you R+R. 


	12. Rude Awakening

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Twelve: Rude Awakening~  
  
~----~  
  
The Reagan Air Force Base was encased in darkness. The starry sky nor the brightness of the moon would have much effect on the deep blackness of night, as dark as it was, but there was still a very small hue of the moon's light shining down onto the ground. An occasional chirp of a cricket off in the high foliage just outside the base sounded off near- silently, only to be accompanied by the mysterous, low swishing of grass, despite there being no wind whatsoever.  
  
Not only was the outside of the base dark, but inside as well. Since it was the middle of the night, not a soul hung out in the halls of the pilot's wing area. There was no reason for any of the pilots to be up and about anyway, since all the quarters had their own restrooms and food supplies. Not even Tuxedo Ral was awake, galloping around the halls like a cowboy like he usually did. He and all the other pilots needed their rest due to the mission they had performed earlier that day. Some of them were still trying to get fog out of their ears.  
  
Unfortunately, Glenn Gordon was still awake. He'd awoken only thirty minutes before and hadn't been able to fall back asleep. His mind had begun to wander around itself as well, bored with the darkness as he waited for himself to drift back into unconciousness, and he'd ended up thinking of Rainey Banker.  
  
"Are you alright?" he had asked as soon as he'd gotten out of his fighter jet when they'd returned to the base with Rainey. She'd had to have an escort back to Reagan since the squadron had needed to finish the mission, and she had hitched a ride with the convoy until then. Glenn was quite glad to see her when they'd returned.  
  
"I suppose so," she'd said, wooziness still detectable in her voice, even though the mission had ended rather long ago. Glenn couldn't help but feel bad for her, feel bad that he hadn't been there in her time of need, feel bad that he was still such a lousy excuse for a squadron leader, or a leader, period.  
  
They'd continued talking a while, mostly over everything that had happened in the past few weeks, but the conversation had turned towards something Glenn was not expecting to talk of.  
  
"I hear that ripe fool Tux has been talking about us," Rainey had told him.  
  
Glenn had looked at her strangely, fearfully. Tuxedo's banter about how cute a couple Rainey and the Thunderbolt leader made wasn't something he really wanted to converse about. "Just what have you heard?"  
  
"Well," she had said, "he's been going on like a broken record about how you and I seem to be more than friends."  
  
"Pah!" Glenn spat. "He's a pretty lousy rumor-creator."  
  
She'd looked at him oddly. "You think so?"  
  
"Anything Tux says is mostly half-assed. He once told me that if you stare long enough at a glass of milk, it turns into cheese."  
  
Rainey had, for some reason or another, stood there, not saying anything. Eventually, Glenn had asked her if something was the matter, and she had responded that it was nothing. They'd continued talking, though she hadn't had as much spite in her as previously.  
  
Gordon had been utterly confused by her demeanor, and only now, as he lay there in bed at two in the morning did he really begin to think about what she'd been troubled about. She had certainly seemed a little put-out by his response concerning crazy old Tux, but that was only natural. Wasn't it?  
  
His heart skipped a beat.  
  
He wouldn't get to ponder over the situation with Rainey, for at that very moment, something passed by the window. The ominous shadow was illuminated into the room thanks to the very slim, nearly-black blueish hue the moon projected.  
  
Immediately Glenn jerked his head over to Tux's bed. The guy was lying there, snoring like a car rotor. It was the only noise apparent in the darkness, and this worried Glenn. Tuxedo Ral was usually the only person up at night, and no one on base was permitted to leave their quarters - unless during an emergency.  
  
Curious, Glenn very, very carefully moved the drapes to catch a peek outside, but it was really too dark to get a view on anything out there. Who on Wars World was up at this hour?  
  
His mind began searching possibilities. It could have been a base guard, but they didn't hang around here at nighttime. Or there really could have been an emergency going on, but wouldn't the base alarm be sounding? Or perhaps it was just some lost ghost, trying to find its way home, wherever that may have been - Glenn didn't really want to know. Who really knew who was out there?  
  
Glenn couldn't help it. He slipped out of bed quietly as to not wake Tux and stepped out of their room.  
  
The hallway wasn't any brighter, but Glenn knew which way he was supposed to go. Carefully maneuvering down it, his bare feet allowing silent footsteps, he reached the end of the hall and looked towards the desk near the pilot's wing entrance door, his eyesight now adjusted to the darkness since he'd been awake for so long.  
  
But the instant before he got there, he heard the audible outtake of air from the door opening. Glenn moved himself up against the wall as though he were some sort of secret agent. He leaned there, his body completely pressed up against it, and he heard the very soft but deep sound of metal making contact with the smooth rug. That was very strange. Either someone was wearing metal shoes, or. . .  
  
The sound grew closer, causing a sweatdrop to run down Glenn's face.  
  
The large bulk of a body in the darkness became visible, its back oviously to Glenn, but in the split second that he saw it, the body turned around, and a horrifying pair of very large, completely red eyes came into contact with his own.  
  
Glenn's fist came right up into the eyes, but the powerful hit didn't make it. Instead, the attack crashed against something, presumably some sort of glass, causing it to break and shatter instantly. The ambiguous thing, startled, began to shriek, but another immensely strong fist hammered right into its face, accompanied by the crack of bones somewhere within.  
  
Glenn had not expected to hear such hideous, spine-chilling cracks, and this stunned him greatly, but whatever the creature was, it was falling onto its back, dead, its now-bleeding eyes stuck wide open uselessly.  
  
He stared down at it, his heart running like a race horse. It was a sickening sight. But before he could really question the terrible creature's identity or origin, he caught something outside of the corner of his eye. Immediately, Glenn jerked his head over towards the door, and outside, there were clearly more of these things, wandering around stealthily outside - and some of them were making their way towards the door.  
  
"Good Lord," he mumbled under his breath. What in the world was going on here?  
  
Tux was still lying on his butt in bed, sound asleep when Glenn came rushing back in. The lead Thunderbolt went right up to his roommate and shook the blue blazes out of him, causing Tux to snort loudly and pop out of whatever dream he'd been enjoying. "The hell? Stop, Glenn! Just stop."  
  
"Tux," Glenn said, exasperated, "come on! We've got a huge problem."  
  
"There I was," Tux was grumbling, "sitting there on Alara Mountain, my arms around two supermodels, one for each arm. One of 'em even looked like Nell, and the other was the spittin' image of that Sonja chic. And they was about to plant big old kisses right on my cheeks when you come in, waking up all of Creation and telling me about some little bitty old problem no one gives half a damn about. And that wonderful dream, it just popped like a big old balloon. Have I ever told you how much I hate you, Glenn Gordon?"  
  
But Glenn was already busy rummaging through the emergency locker near their room door. He fished out a small semi-automatic handgun and some extra ammunition for it - As all of the rooms were required to have. Glenn never thought he'd have to actually use the blamed thing. It looked as though that wouldn't be possible, though. This was dogged serious.  
  
He opened their room's door slightly and peeked out, but he still couldn't really see anything, except from the dark blue light emenating from the moon into the main lobby of the pilot's wing, where that mysterious creature still lay inanimate, no life inside it whatsoever. Glenn's eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the terrible thing.  
  
Then his eyes moved down the hallway. Illuminated by a tiny red light on the wall was the fire alarm. Glenn at first considered heading over there and activating it, but whoever was outside obviously wasn't friendly at all, and with the Thunderbolt pilots all scrambling, disoriented, they'd all just get mown down.  
  
Tux stumbled tiredly over to the locker and looked at the other gun inside of it quizzically. "Glenn, what exactly is so doggone disturbing that you need to-"  
  
"Shhh!" Glenn growled suddenly, waving his free hand for the guy to close his big yap. Then, very stealthily, he crept out of the room and headed towards the opposite side of the hall, quietly opening the door where the roommates Bubba Boggs and Tristan Royal slept.  
  
They would obviously be startled by Glenn's presence, so he needed to be careful. It probably wouldn't work out too well, but he had to try. Silently, he went right up to Bubba's bed and put a hand on his arm. "Bubba."  
  
The big man didn't stir at all. Glenn shook him rapidly, growing annoyed. Bubba slept way too much already, why couldn't he have been a light sleeper? "Bubba! Wake up, you old fool!"  
  
Bubba snorted loudly, just as Tux had done. "Grmphf? Glenn?"  
  
"Yeah. We've got a big problem here. I think we're being attacked, just stay calm and get your equipment out of your locker. And wake Tristan up too - and be careful."  
  
Bubba didn't hesitate. He jumped right out of his bed and rushed over to Tristan while Glenn creeped back over towards the door. Looking across the hallway as he stood there, he motioned for Tux to stay where he was. The sleepy, irritated fellow did, though not without showing his aggravation with an irritated mumble.  
  
Then Glenn looked down the hallway again at the lobby.  
  
Like a stealthy group of SWAT officers, the unknown assaulters crept up towards the body of their comrade. The lead armored creature knelt down and examined the body with its large, imposing eyes strangely. Glenn heard it whisper something to the others behind it, but the words only came out like gibberish. The creature sounded as though it were trying to drink mouthwash while it spoke. These things definitely didn't have a trace of human blood inside of them.  
  
The kneeling creature seemed to hesitate a moment, then it looked down the hall towards the pilot's rooms. Glenn could tell from the jagged, swervy motion of its big pupils. The direction the body of the creature was lying in seemed to signify that it had been attacked by something - or more likely, someone - in that direction, right where Gordon was. And in that moment, Glenn spied its arm. The armored thing was not a ligament, but was actually a large, imposing machinegun, and now that Glenn looked a second time, all of these mysterious attackers were armed in the very same way.  
  
The lead creature, with a flick of its big, free, unarmed wrist, made the motion for its fellow assaulters to follow it, and the lot of them began to warily sneak down the hallway towards the pilot rooms. Glenn's eyes widened a considerable amount as he realized how little time he had left to prepare.  
  
What was he supposed to do now? He hadn't alerted all of the Thunderbolts yet, and they were about to get torn apart.  
  
Onward the attackers crept. Within seconds, they were less than twenty feet from the rooms - and where Glenn hid. Sweat began to break out on his forehead.  
  
There was only one thing he could do to save his friends.  
  
No longer hesitating, Glenn Gordon leaned outward into the hall from the room and raised his handgun right up into firing position, pointing it directly at the lead attacker's enormous, blood red eyes that shone brightly despite the darkness. He felt the gun kick backwards as he pulled the trigger, and not a split second later, there was the sound of glass shattering as the lead set of eyes dipped backwards, a great "BOOM" emanating through the base to accompany Glenn's shot.  
  
A noisy collapse occured as the creature and its heavy set of armored crumbled to the ground backwards. But without warning, the five other enemy attackers opened realized what was happening and opened fire, right at Glenn.  
  
The Thunderbolt leader pitched himself backwards as bullets shredded the walls around the door. But the second there was a break in the firing, he leaned right back out the doorway and proceeded to return fire. By now, Tux was doing the same, having less-than-pleasantly realized what exactly was going on here.  
  
More sporadic shots came from the enemy attackers, but now they were scrambled by the bullets coming back at them. The entire, pitch-black hallway became consumed by the sounds of the gun battle.  
  
Some of the enemy attackers rushed back into the lobby to find some sort of cover. Glenn took this oppurtunity to bolt across the hallway, back into their room with Tux so Bubba and Tristan wouldn't have him standing there, hogging up all their firing room. And as soon as he'd headed out of their room, the two of them were already sending gunshots at the armored assaulters.  
  
"Surrender immediately, meatbags!" It was the gurgly voice of one of the creatures who had taken cover. "The Black Hole cause will consume and kill you if you do not accept it! The enemies of the Leader will be extinguished like the pathetic flame of a match!"  
  
Glenn's eyes widened even more at this horrifying revelation. These terrifying, inhuman creatures were Black Hole soldiers. And they had found the Reagan Air Force Base. For all Glenn knew an entire legion of Black Hole forces could be on their way to back up these miserable monsters.  
  
He grit his teeth angrily and continued firing. The response from the Black Hole troops was similar.  
  
By now, an alarm was sounding out across the base. But none of the lights had come on yet. Glenn didn't know if this helped or burdened their situation - Who knew if these things could see in the dark?  
  
He spared a quick glance down the opposite end of the hallway to make sure no Thunderbolt was running around like a beheaded chicken, but he saw the recognizable sheen of armor in the darkness, heading right into one of the rooms. They were coming in from the other entrance, now. "Damn it!"  
  
He raised the gun and fired at the trooper heading into the random Thunderbolt room, but he was too late. The bullet he fired sprayed off the wall, shattering paint and concrete with no effect on the enemy trooper. As soon as he fired, though, gunfire came from the troops in the lobby, and he was forced to duck right back into his own room.  
  
But Glenn nearly swallowed his tongue when he heard much more gunfire than there had been until just then - And this new round of shots was coming from the very room Glenn had tried to keep the enemy trooper out of.  
  
He couldn't help it. Forcing his mind to keep away the obvious danger of being shot, Glenn Gordon brazenly rushed right out of his room and into the hallway, bursting down it maybe ten feet and plowing right into the room where the enemy trooper had disappeared into, doing all this in nearly complete darkness with bullets whizzing by him. He could only hope he wouldn't get mown down like grass by whatever vile being wasn't supposed to be in there as soon as he popped in.  
  
And there were those huge, red eyes, completely illuminated despite the darkness. Glenn pumped a shot out from his handgun instantly, and a vicious, high-pitched screeching sound came from the creature as it took a hit to its moldy neck area, the glass on its helmet shattering at once. Bullets sprayed out from the dying trooper's gun-arm towards Glenn, but the pilot was already diving down behind one of the beds for cover.  
  
The bullets continued spraying towards the door and out into the hallway. Thankfully, it wouldn't pose much of a danger for much longer. The creature paused, unleashed some sickening, terrible excuse for a cough due to the giant hole in its throat, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.  
  
Glenn raised himself up from the floor when he heard the dead alien trooper tumble over, but as soon as he did, a flurry of lights flashed on outside the base, in the watch towers. Some of the spotlights from them shone towards the window, and as one of them passed the window of the room, Glenn saw whatever was left of Cassie LaGall, lying on the ground, six red holes in her mid-section.  
  
He stared at her remains a moment, horrified.  
  
Whirling around, feeling dizzy-headed, Glenn rushed over towards the doorway to try and continue his attack. But then a question popped into his mind, one that terrified him greatly. Where was Cassie's roommate, Rainey Banker?  
  
Though he was afraid to do so, he turned and scanned the ground again to see if she had suffered the same fate as Cassie LaGall. But there was no sign of her, even though Glenn didn't know if that was a good or bad thing. Well, no news was good news, apparently, at least in this situation.  
  
He stuck his head out the doorway, trying to shake off the effects that seeing one of his comrades dead had on him, and scanned the hallway. Now, the spotlights were pouring in more often, letting Glenn get a better visual on his targets. There was no sign of enemy troops from the other end of the hallway, but they were still plentiful down in the lobby.  
  
Lifting the gun up again, Glenn pumped off one more shot at the troops as he leaned farther out the door. Then he tried to unleash one a second time, but nothing happened. Immediately he realized he had run out of ammunition, and his hands shot downwards to search his pockets, to try and find the necessary replacement.  
  
But in this very moment of weakness, his luck took a direct spiral downwards. He felt bullets whizzing past him all of a sudden, but then, one of those rounds that had been fired from the random Black Hole trooper in the lobby found its place. The bullet slammed right into Glenn's lower- right gut area, where he had just barely been exposing it out from the doorway. Glenn found himself flying backwards without warning from the impact, and he was thrown against the opposite side of the doorway painfully.  
  
His mind couldn't concentrate on what had just happened. Glenn felt himself sliding downwards, back into Cassie's and Rainey's room. Slumping down against the wall, he felt tears welling up in his eyes as he placed his free hand over the wound.  
  
"Oh, no."  
  
That was all he could say. He'd never felt so much pain in his entire life. It was so terrible, and it wouldn't subside. Not in the least little bit.  
  
He looked down at the wound, but he immediately wished he hadn't done so. Precious blood was pouring out of the hole that had been created in his body, and holding his hand tightly over it didn't help stop the flow. He couldn't tell if the bullet had penetrated anything vital inside of him, but it sure felt like it did.  
  
Glenn leaned his head backwards as he leaned there on the floor against the wall. He didn't moan or grunt, or curse himself angrily, but only a lone tear ran down his eye, accompanying the beads of sweat that had already formed on his face earlier. This was impossible. This couldn't happen.  
  
Then he realized it was happening. He had been shot, and he'd been shot bad.  
  
Struggling to stay upright, he glanced over at Cassie's body. The thought suddenly crossed him that he may die, right there in this stupid room, leaning against the wall like a typical war victim. This was just wrong, but it was happening, and Glenn accepted it.  
  
Then, as though it had a mind of its own, his free hand moved towards his neck, and it gripped the cross on the necklace that Dario Yossarian had given him so long ago. He gripped it as tightly as he'd ever gripped anything in his life.  
  
The terrifying amount of panicking sadness he felt suddenly drained like water. A Black Hole trooper was poking its head through the door while gunfire still raged out in the hallway. It started to race right into the room, but Glenn, sliding himself along the wall out of panic and desperation, mustered up enough strength to point the gun at it.  
  
Then he remembered he was out of ammunition.  
  
Glenn leaned there painfully against the wall, lowering the gun, an absolutely pathetic look on his face as the trooper entered the room, staring at him. The troopers eyes centered on Glenn's face, then on the wound for a few seconds, then to the man's eyes.  
  
No words were exchanged between the two of them. The trooper raised its gun-arm and pointed it at Glenn's head, as though it wanted to finish the job early for some disgusting reason. Perhaps it was just that it wanted to claim the kill for itself. Perhaps it wanted to stamp as much Orange Star life by itself as it could. Whatever the case, it was going to kill him.  
  
Glenn just sat there, staring down the barrel, waiting. Seconds passed.  
  
The creature's eyes narrowed into slits suddenly. And without wasting another second, it turned back towards the door and raced out of the room, leaving Gordon to lie there and die.  
  
The gunfire in the hallway - and now around the base - continued. There looked to be no end to it, but it didn't matter to Glenn. He just lay there against the wall, waiting for his body to give out, wondering what kind of apartments they had up there in the holy clouds, since he'd probably be taking a trip up there soon enough.  
  
Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one of the base's military police rushing down the hallway, followed by a whole platoon of the same sort of folk. And there appeared to be a few medics with them, as well. One of them raced into the room housing Glenn and whatever was left of Cassie.  
  
But by that time, Glenn had already blacked out.  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Microsoft Word is being a pain. A major pain. The files are ending up being much larger in size than I want them to be, so bear with me here if this (and the previous) chapter(s) takes long to load for you. In any case, thanks for reading, and I hope you review. 


	13. To Die in Vain

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Thirteen: To Die in Vain~  
  
~----~  
  
There was nothing but darkness.  
  
It had consumed him, had completely taken over his soul. Though not concious of where he was, he felt fearful - Yet at the same time, relaxed. It was a very soothing darkness, one that he didn't want to come out of. He wanted it to take him in and grasp him tightly, to not let him go. He would be safe as long as he was here, surrounded by nothing.  
  
But for some reason, there was something wrong with the darkness. Something out of tune. He didn't feel as though he were dead, he just felt like his mind was suspended somehow, here in the midst of this mysterious blackness. There was pain in him, and as the minutes passed, he felt his mind growing weaker, as though it were losing something. What was wrong?  
  
Well, he'd figure it all later. For the time being, he relaxed in the comfort of the blackness, happily content with nothing in particular.  
  
Suddenly, he felt pain in his ears. They rang horribly, as though banshees were singing their highest notes as loud as they could. And there were terrible booms as well, coursing through him, his mind. He couldn't decipher where they were coming from, but they seemed so far away, as though they weren't even in this same universe. Even still, they annoyed him. Why wouldn't they stop?  
  
"I can't get the bullet out while we're under attack!" he suddenly heard a frantic voice say. But like the booms, the voice sounded tizzy, distant. He tried to ignore it, but it left a bad first impression on him.  
  
"Then we need to get him to the basement!" This voice, though it was as far away as the first, was recognizable. Yet he couldn't get a bead on its origin. It confused him, but it didn't matter much now. He was perfectly fine with staying here in his pleasant little black place.  
  
But then, he heard something that startled him a great deal. "Glenn, wake up!"  
  
Glenn? Yes, that's right. His name was Glenn. Glenn something. He'd try and remember later.  
  
"Come on, Glenn! Wake up!" No. Leave Glenn alone. But the voice was getting closer, and he realized that it sounded terrified, as though it were being accompanied by tears.  
  
"Don't give out on us, Gordon! Don't give out!" This voice was new as well, and it was growing much closer now. He felt as though he could now reach out and touch them if he tried, but he didn't feel it necessary to bother to. These voices certainly sounded concerned, and his wonderful dark place suddenly didn't seem so wonderful anymore. Wherever they were, he wanted to be with them. It was growing lonesome, after all, being by himself.  
  
"Wake up, Glenn, please!" Fine, fine. Maybe he should try and move. He hadn't bothered to give it a shot since entering the darkness, but it seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the moment.  
  
Here went nothing.  
  
Suddenly, without warning, Glenn Meyer Gordon became fully aware of his surroundings. His eyes popped open, blinking a few times. At first, he felt everything was too doggone bright to see anything. Yet his hearing hadn't left him - He heard someone groan loudly in pain. Then he realized it was his own voice.  
  
Disoriented, Glenn squinted and looked at the people surrounding him. One or two, he didn't recognize, but there were three people who seemed familiar. Only a second needed to pass before he remembered who exactly they were. Tuxedo Ral, Fel Banon, and Rainey Banker stood over him.  
  
No, they weren't standing.  
  
They were running. Glenn realized he was being carried along by two of the base's medics, both of them with one arm around his shoulders and the other under his thighs, creating a makeshift chair for him as they rushed him to wherever they were headed. Glenn didn't ask why. He was in too much pain.  
  
He remembered the hideous wound that had created itself thanks to a stray round fired by one of those Black Hole cretins, and he looked down at the hole. They had apparently patched it up as best they could for the time being, but the hole obviously wasn't closed yet. It still hurt like the dickens, and Glenn felt if it became any worse he'd black out again.  
  
The medics and three pilots rushed him towards the long set of stairs that led to the Reagan base's basement, but as soon as they rounded a hall corner, a pair of Black Hole troops became visible to them. Fortunately, their backs were turned, and they were busy firing at something outside near the runways. Glenn realized that the gun battle had not yet ended, and it was still dark as it had been before he'd lost conciousness.  
  
Uttering nothing out of fear for their lives, the medics were forced to change their route, but the place was still full of Black Hole troops. This was getting costly.  
  
"In here!" one of the medics yelled, and he burst into a random office, plowing the door open with his free shoulder.  
  
They carried Glenn over to the desk and lay him down on it as the three Thunderbolts followed them in. Glenn layed there, on the verge of unconciousness again, but he tried to pick out what their expressions were saying anyway. He'd have to fight the darkness if he fell back into it, and he feared that this time, he may not get out once he went back in.  
  
He couldn't remember ever seeing a more worried expression on Tuxedo's face. That was very unlike him, but given the circumstances, it wasn't anything to be ashamed of. Fel Banon had a hard look about him, as though he may actually be worried about what would happen to Glenn. The Thunderbolt leader found that even more appalling. And then there was Rainey, who looked like she would collapse any moment. She certainly looked exhausted, yet tears ran down her cheeks with no sign of stopping.  
  
"Rainey," Glenn grunted, his throat hoarse as the medics proceeded to try and excavate the bullet lodged in his gut once more, "how are you alive?"  
  
She looked confused amidst the terror in her eyes. "What, Glenn?"  
  
Glenn hesitated a moment, taking in some of the more intense pain and waiting for it to subside as best it could. "That trooper killed Cassie. Where were you?"  
  
"I," she stammered, "I hid under the bed."  
  
He stared at her.  
  
"I put my hands over my head and tried to drown out the sounds." She looked at the ground, as though ashamed to look Glenn in the eye, and for a moment she looked as though she'd taken on the part of a scared little girl. "But then I saw you there against the wall, bleeding. I almost screamed. The medics rushed in and grabbed you, then."  
  
She walked up to the desk, looking like she may break out in tears again at any moment. She put a hand on his and stood there next to him, staring down at him and the medics as they worked. "I'm sorry."  
  
Glenn coupled his fingers around her hand. "Don't worry about it."  
  
The medics worked tirelessly as occasional gunfire rang out all around the base. But the gunshots were beginning to subside in numbers slightly. And by now, the base's military police were swarming the halls outside of the lot of them. It was clear who was winning the battle now.  
  
Glenn looked dowards at the medics as they continued, but not five seconds later, as he squinted terribly to try and block out the horrible pain from the sudden dislodging of the bullet, he saw the bloody little leadbolt being taken out of his body, and a great sense of relaxation overcame him. Finally.  
  
The medics proceeded to begin patching up the wound as best they could while Glenn continued talking to his friends warily.  
  
Outside, a group of the base's military police were still engaged in a gun battle with some of the Black Hole troops. The gunshots still raged on full throttle on this side of the base, thankfully far away from where Glenn recieved treatment for his wound. Bullets sprayed all around the lot of them as they returned fire, trying to finally end this battle.  
  
The Black Hole troops they were engaged with suddenly turned tail and bolted out the twin-doors behind them, prompting the military police to race off after them. "Come on!"  
  
Blasting out the door, the base police raised their handguns and opened fire at the troops, but some of the enemy were turning around and firing right back. The problem was that the police didn't have anywhere to really get into cover, and more than a few of them ended up being mown down by the heavy, powerful gun-arms the Black Hole troopers used.  
  
Still, the police were able to get in some good shots of their own. The Black Hole soldiers had become outnumbered, and more losses didn't help anything. The remaining few of them sprinted off from the gun battle and headed directly towards the hills to the north of the base.  
  
But the police didn't pursue. They stood there a moment, wondering what to do. Should they go after them? What if there were more enemy troopers over those hills? The remaining base police would simply get torn apart, and it was still nighttime, it being pitch-black over those hills.  
  
That was when George Beauregard stepped out the door behind them and approached the group. Behind him were three more members of the military police, but they seemed geared up for something, as though they were going on a very, very long walk.  
  
"Okay," he said to the three troops accompanying him as he pointed to the fleeing Black Hole troopers, "I want you all to follow them, and find out where the blue blazes they came from. You've been given enough rations, but remember that you're not carrying much ammunition, since this will be a covert operation."  
  
The three soldiers nodded as they all slipped on sets of nightvision goggles, activating them in unison. They wouldn't have much success if they couldn't see where the pursued was, after all.  
  
"Wait until they're farther over there, you don't want them seeing you." Then Beauregard walked back into the building from whence he'd came. He needed to find out how his pilots were doing, each and every one of them. He certainly couldn't let himself relax until he knew they were all safe and accounted for.  
  
Glenn was still on the desk back on the other side of the base, but he was trying his best to sit upright. It didn't look to be working to well. Waves of nausea kept coming about him, and while he didn't vomit, the feelings were enough to continuously make him lay back down.  
  
"Will you calm down?" one of the medics grumbled. "You were just shot, kid. And we're not done patching the wound."  
  
"I've got to find out," Glenn grunted as he again tried to sit upright though not being overly successful, "if everyone else is alright. What about Bubba and Tristan? And Achmed? I've got to go and find them!"  
  
"Fine, what would I know about your health? I'm only a damned doctor," the medic groused irritatedly as he continued patching the wound whether Glenn liked it or not.  
  
"We'll go and see if they're alright, Gordon. You just take it easy." Fel Banon nodded his head towards the door to Tux, and the two of them proceeded out the door, carefully scanning the dark hallway before they went rushing out of it. They disappeared from Glenn's view, but a very odd expression formed on his face.  
  
He rubbed his head slightly before talking again as he struggled upwards again, not noticing the annoyed look he recieved from the medics when he did so. "Why on Wars World is Banon suddenly being, well, normal?"  
  
Rainey sighed. "He's always been normal, Glenn. He's a little egocentric, yes, but he still cares about his wingmates. And that includes you, no matter what conflict you get into."  
  
Glenn sat there, taking this information in - Trying to believe it. It didn't work. "But he's such a dog sometimes. And he nearly got me killed in all that fog. How am I supposed to believe that at once?"  
  
"Glenn, he's your comrade!" she reasoned, growing upset that Gordon was apparently trying to start an argument right here and now, even if he wasn't. "He cares about you, he told me himself!"  
  
He eyed her strangely. "He did?"  
  
Still finding it hard to believe, Glenn finally seemed capable of sitting upright without any real nagging problems, despite the pain that came from the obvious wound in his gut. That would take some time to heal, but at least having it patched up would keep it from bleeding, and as long as it was so, Glenn felt he had the duty of moving about and checking to see if everyone was alright.  
  
He began to struggle off the desk, but he was instantly stopped by the doctors, who growled insidously at this fool pilot's downright bizarre behavior. Anyone who had just been shot should have been layed up in bed for at least a week, at best. What was this guy thinking? Well, he was a military man, and all these macho dingbats seemed to try and think moving around like an idiot even if they'd had a ligament shot off was the manly thing to do. "Doggone, Gordon, can't you just settle down for a minute?"  
  
"I'll be fine," he grumbled loudly as he staggered over to the door, Rainey trying to help him stay stable and upright without falling over flat on his face.  
  
But just as he got there, the door swung open from the outside and crashed right into Glenn, toppling him instantly. "Accck!"  
  
Rainey, literally gasping until her lungs combusted, dropped to the floor to try and help him up. Commander Beauregard swept in, having thrown the door open far too quickly, though he hadn't necessarily realized he'd done so. The older fellow peeked around the room until he spied Glenn lying there like a sack of mud. "What in blue blazes happened to you, Gordon?"  
  
Glenn glared ion bolts at him.  
  
"Nevermind. I need to go find those wingmates of yours - Just sit tight for a while." And Beauregard flew right out the door as quickly as he'd come in, leaving Glenn to lie there and stare in shock at the absurdity of what had just occured.  
  
"I told you!" one of the medics instantly ravaged. "I told you to just sit down, since you wouldn't be goin' nowhere for a while! But no, couldn't listen to the darn doctor, could you? Had to do the manly thing. . ." And the very annoyed man continued his bantering as Glenn sighed heavily and simply laid his head backwards onto the floor, Rainey still worrying over him like he was some sort of pet of hers.  
  
---  
  
Far away from the base, maybe three hours after the gun battle had finally ended, the Black Hole troopers who had gotten away came across their small convoy that served as their transportation and current base of operations.  
  
A whole slew of similar soldiers came rushing up to their colleagues and wrapped their heavy, armored arms around them, trying to help them over to a medical area of the convoy. Once there, the returning troopers began to recieve treatment for whatever wounds they had recieved during the gun battle at Reagan, but almost immediately, they were approached by a very unfriendly person.  
  
One of the trooper's big, repulsive eyes widened even larger than they already were as it spotted its current commander storming over to it.  
  
The other trooper, sitting down on a table outside the convoy medical truck, didn't seem to notice their commander approaching them at full gait, but as soon as it heard the ominous sound of footsteps on grass, it turned and gasped as best to its ability - Which actually came out as a high- pitched gurgling sound.  
  
"C-Commander," it stuttered fearfully as the figure loomed before them, "you grace us with your presence? We are honored-"  
  
"Dispense with the false gratitude, my little peon. Such words of sincerity are rarely authentic." Lash crossed her thin arms as she raised her eyes at the creature sitting before her. Her black frizzy hair didn't seem to waver in the least, despite the wind was picking up now as stormclouds brewed over them. "Did your platoon successfully eradicate or deracinate the Orange Star squadron Mr. Boldigh is so concerned over?"  
  
The soldier sat there, staring at her, beads of sweat appearing on its bumpy, miserable forehead. The answer was obviously one that Commander Lash would not find terribly amusing. "My apologies, my lady. They had a much more tenacious force than we initially predicted, and we suffered many losses. I fear we are the only survivors from the attack."  
  
She looked down at them for a few seconds, expressionless. Though Lash never conveyed many emotions at one time, it was simple enough to tell right then that she was not pleased, and this worried both of the soldiers. "You did not answer my question."  
  
The trooper cleared its slimy throat.  
  
"I believe only two of the enemy targets were eliminated, though I am not positive about one of them," it gurgled. "Others sustained injuries, but we can't confirm-"  
  
"You are as blunderous as you are incompetent at your duty." Lash's black- outlined eyes narrowed slightly, causing the trooper's eyes to intensify in fear for its life. "What am I supposed to report to Mr. Boldigh and Commander Flak when we return to Fate's Point?"  
  
Realizing the grand mistakes it had committed back at the assaulted Orange Star base, the trooper respectfully bowed towards the ground as it sat there. "Words cannot express my sorrow, my lady, for I have tainted the Black Hole cause. Please forgive me and my colleague."  
  
But Lash was ignoring the soldier and its sympathied bow, talking to another Black Hole officer next to her. "I want these two sent to the front lines. Don't bother with their injuries - Perhaps it will remind them of the consequences that accompany failure."  
  
"Yes, my lady," the officer returned as it gave Lash some very bizarre form of a salute, and it went right up to the two troopers, grabbing them and leading them off towards one of the convoy trucks as they stammered incessently, trying to get their beloved Commander to change her already set-in-stone mind. Neither of them were successful.  
  
Walking away from the medical truck, Lash casually stepped over to a large computer unit in the middle of the largely-black convoy, keying in a few words on the screen. Anyone sitting at the other computers tried their best to ignore her, but it was quite the difficult thing to do with her standing there, eyeing at them as they tried to conduct business. Eventually, everyone near her finally up and left, leaving her in peace to do her work.  
  
The computer's monitor flashed in many different colors repeatedly, but then, the large, looming face of another Black Hole alien officer took up the entire viewing screen. As it spoke, its already repulsive voice sounded distant and scratchy from the poor sound the monitor had enabled. "What is your bidding, my lady?"  
  
Lash responded immediately, getting to business before the officer could even begin to fathom what she wanted from him. "How goes construction of the cannon?"  
  
Hesitating a moment to check a few sheets of paper it held, the officer blinked its large set of red pupils as it scanned the notes. Then it looked back up towards the screen. "Very steady, my lady. We have all available units on construction duty. The cannon itself is not yet operational, but that status will change within approximately seventy-two hours. Construction of the operations dome at the moment is merely cosmetic to add shielding to our officers inside-"  
  
"Cancel all work on construction of the dome's outer hull. I want all units working on the cannon itself." She crossed her arms again, as though it were a done deal. "Carry out the order at once."  
  
Those ominous red eyes blinked again confusedly. "I beg your pardon, my lady?"  
  
"Cancel all work on construction of the dome's outer hull and put those units to work on construction of the cannon," Lash repeated, toneless, expressionless.  
  
The officer looked as though this information was not acceptable. Cancel work on the dome? Preposterous. Even though Fate's Point was the largest Black Hole base in the Macro-Orange Star region, the idea of leaving their own soldiers unguarded simply wasn't a tolerable thought. "Err- My lady, if we abort the dome's construction, that will leave the cannon's operators unshielded, open to attack. Surely you jest."  
  
"The Black Cannon has the power to obliterate any of our foes in the blink of an eye, and you are concerned over whether or not the operations dome has the shielding necessary to prevent their dead carcasses from colliding into it?" Lash glared at the officer, an expression not often used by her, and it sent a chill down the creature's lop-sided spine. "You do not deserve to oversee the construction of such a fine mechanism. You are cowardly - You do not assist the cause that is Black Hole, you merely tardy it like the worthless, ungrateful sack of mesh that you are. It is because of incompetent, blundering worms like yourself that we are being pushed back so greatly in this conflict when we should have already taken control of the entire continent by this time."  
  
The creature's skin shook rapidly, sweat pouring down its gray face. "I- I'm sorry! My lady! Please forgive me! I'll have every available unit put to work on construction of the cannon at once!"  
  
"Good," Lash muttered, her voice still as bland as before, "and see to it that Kailaff Boldigh is notified that the attack on the Orange Star base failed."  
  
"Y-yes, my lady." The officer nodded its head, and quickly closed the video link between them, honestly not wanting to converse with Lash any longer than it needed to.  
  
Lash switched off the computer and picked a radio up off of the table next to her.  
  
"Begin moving the convoy," she stated into it while opening the back doors of one of the many trucks and stepping into it, "we're moving out."  
  
Static came back over the radio, followed by the obvious response. "At once, Commander."  
  
As all of the troops loaded up the equipment, the convoy slowly began to rumble forth, headed back to the Fate's Point base. It would take two days to reach it since they needed to take the long way around Fog Valley, but the journey would likely go undisturbed.  
  
And at that moment, towards the very back of the convoy, the three Orange Star soldiers who had been following the retreating Black Hole troops reached the last truck, an equipment transport, and carefully, stealthily crept into the back of it, not bothering to ask anyone if they had been invited to come along. Fortunately, there was little presence of enemy soldiers back here, so they would presumably have a safe-enough ride to wherever it was they were now headed.  
  
They prayed their own journey wouldn't last very long, and they prayed it would stay a safe one.  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
Another chapter, another excuse to stay up into the wee hours of the morning. I'm having trouble figuring out what I'm going to do after this fanfic ends, considering it's beginning to reach the climax now. Maybe I'll take a break from fanfiction for a while. I've been wanting to do something concerning Mobile Suit Gundam, though, but I don't know about that. Who knows? I'd appreciate any Advance Wars fic suggestions, too. Give me some ideas here, folks. In any case, once again, thanks for reading, and all reviews are welcome and appreciated. 


	14. Operation Mountain Strike

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Fourteen: Operation Mountain Strike~  
  
~----~  
  
The long line of black-painted trucks rolled over mountains, grassy valleys, and through forest. While the Black Hole convoy was quite the noticable little thing out there in the middle of nowhere, intelligence reports had brought them information that their route was currently devoid of any enemy troops, so they had little to worry over. Of course, none of the Black Hole officers would have worried anyway, since the convoy was being escorted by a plethora of tanks and recon trucks.  
  
But their intelligence, while mostly correct, had been slightly off. Towards the back of the convoy, nestled in the darkness of the very last truck, sat three Orange Star troopers, taking a ride along with the line of Black Hole vehicles. Fortunately, up until then, their presence had basically remained unnoticed, though there had certainly been one or two incidents where they'd been almost discovered. But, apparently, Black Hole did not enjoy bothering to check over all the trucks to see if they'd picked up any unwanted hitchhikers, so their mission to find out where these folks were headed had thus far been successful.  
  
They could only hope their luck would last.  
  
Steadily, the convoy continued onwards, until the pleasant-enough grass areas began to give way to much darker, forboding scenery. Not only did it look like it would begin storming any moment, but their was something else in the sky besides those dark clouds. The three troopers strained to peek out the back of their truck, and only too soon realized that the mysterious atmospheric change and odd smells that hinted at their noses were being caused by black smoke spewing from factory towers.  
  
They had entered a base of some sort, probably their destination. From the looks of the place, it was unlike any Black Hole operations point they had seen or heard about thus far. The soldiers tried to take a glimpse at the horizon, but it was mostly consumed by smoke, although there were hints of mountain-sides back behind the black plumes of hideous toxin.  
  
But there was one large mountain peak that stood out among the smoke and factories. It was instantly recognizable to the three troopers, since this particular mountain had always been a vacation spot loved by Macro-Orange Star citizens, and people often looked at it as the number one location in the region to propose marriage to a loved one.  
  
Fate's Point.  
  
Suddenly, they felt the truck lurch forward, brakes being pressured in the driver's seat. The troopers gripped anything they could grab at in the back of the truck so they wouldn't go falling over and make a big old scene. That would end their mission real quick.  
  
The truck had stopped, and they could no longer wait. With the stealth that only Orange Star troopers showed, the three recon soldiers carefully, cautiously slid their way out of the back of the vehicle, peeking around its large corners before they went and did anything dumb. For all they knew, a legion of Black Hole's best troops would walk right around the truck and be on them in seconds.  
  
Foresighting the area around them, the troopers attentively made their way into a random alley between two of the base's larger buildings. Rounding a corner, they found themselves alone, in no real danger of being spotted here. One of them took out a radio, a necessary and very vital piece of equipment all of them carried at this time.  
  
"Reagan Base, do you copy? This is Eagle team," the soldier asked into the radio solidly, successfully maintaining his voice's composure, despite the situation they were in. "Reagan Base, repeat, do you copy?"  
  
It was took seconds to get a response. The radio scratched and faded slightly, but then, the recognizable voice of an Orange Star communications operator sounded out. "This is Reagan Base, go ahead, Eagle team."  
  
"We've located the attackers' base of of operations. It appears to be based at the foot of Fate's Point and the neighboring mountain region." The soldier glanced around him. They were completely surrounding by the towering factories. "I can tell you right now, this is the largest military base I've ever seen, in personal experience."  
  
"Give us an approximate number on enemy units, Eagle," the operator responded.  
  
"I have no idea right now, I'll have to get a better look at things. But this place is packed with all sorts of militaristic craft." Squinting, the trooper even noticed a squadron of Black Hole fighters taking off into the sky, though he really couldn't hear their powerful motors from where he was. "They even have aircraft stationed here. This place is insane."  
  
"Good work, Eagle team. Find a way out of there at once."  
  
"Copy that, Reagan." The soldier switched the radio off and slipped it back into his belt, smiling to himself slightly. The mission had been successful. Unfortunately, now they needed to find a way out of the base, but if they waited until nightfall, they could probably slip out without being noticed.  
  
The lead trooper motioned for his comrades to come and follow him, but before he had even started to move again, his eyes came into contact with something off in the distance, something very appalling and confusing. It was obviously miles away, but it was a much larger, ferocious structure than anything else in the vicinity. While he didn't have an entire view of it, obviously, there appeared to be an enormous black turret off in the horizon. While he wasn't positive that that was what it was, it sent chills down his spine just looking at it.  
  
"Hey," he muttered, turning around to face his colleagues, "what do you suppose-"  
  
More than thirty Black Hole soldiers stood there, their gun-arms pointed at he and his now-surrendering comrades.  
  
"-that is?" he finished, very slowly.  
  
---  
  
The door to the base's main headquarters office flew open, and the captured Orange Star troops were unnecessarily thrown in harshly, followed by a squad of Black Hole troopers. Without warning, the Black Hole troops shoved their captured prey down into a set of chairs, quickly tying powerful rope at their hands behind each of their backs. The Orange Star recon soldiers could only sit there and obey whatever these miserable creatures told - or forced them to do while they awaited their fate.  
  
"You worthless Orange Star scum just thought you'd wander around our base and do whatever you please, eh? Let's see how much you enjoy our fearless commander's company, then." A leering grin came to the snarling creature's disgusting face. "You ARE our guests, after all."  
  
None of the troops felt it necessary to respond, at least at first.  
  
"If we're your guests," one of them said, frowning at the Black Hole soldiers, "why are we all tied up? Forgive me for my honesty, but you're a lousy host, even for an intestinal parasite like yourself, nor do you smell particularly freshening even with all that armor on."  
  
This angered the Black Hole soldier who had first spoken to no ends. Prisoners of war weren't supposed to talk back to their captors! And the Orange Star trooper's smart-aleckiness certainly didn't help things. The soldier stood there, its normal hand clenching tightly into a fist as its anger built up inside dramatically. "You conceited, wretched human! I should drag you outside like the miserable, mangy hound that you are and kill you as you lie there in the dirt! Perhaps I should-"  
  
"Enough."  
  
Lash's calm but bold voice quieted the room instantly. The troopers whirled around, staring at her as she stepped in through the door with the quickest of strides. She stepped around them and stared at the three prisoners there, tied up in their seats as though they were all about to fry in the electric chair. "So you're the ones were were sneaking around the base."  
  
The troopers did not respond to her less-than-lukewarm greeting.  
  
"Apparently," the bizarre Black Hole commander continued, "you did not realize that this particular base does not take kindly to intruders. Of course, you're the first to have the gall to even attempt to look at this base, so we'll have to figure out something special for you."  
  
"Hang them from the cannon turret by their throats!" one of the Black Hole soldiers gurgled in a laugh.  
  
"Run them over like jelly with the tanks!" another stated, anger in its voice.  
  
Lash didn't respond to them. She only continued to eye the three captured troopers sitting there. "I would imagine you haven't been here for too long, since we would have found you long ago if that were true. You probably went ahead and informed your own base of our location as well. And while you obviously got a peek at our special little project, you couldn't get enough visual information on it to let your base know what exactly it was. My, what an exciting little adventure you all have had."  
  
The troopers sat there, a little stunned. Lash hadn't even asked them any questions and she had already figured out what they had been doing prior to being captured. Would they ever get out of this base alive?  
  
"What are we going to do with them, my lady?" one of the soldiers asked. "May we slit their throats now?"  
  
"No!" another soldier barked excitedly. "Let's set them into the wild and hunt them down like animals!"  
  
"Splendid idea!" the first soldier laughed, and they continued talking as though killing these three innocent troopers mercilessly was as wonderful a hobby as fishing or tennis.  
  
Suddenly, Lash chuckled lightly. It was that ferociously disturbing chuckle of hers, the one she usually conveyed whenever she was tickled pink or had the most bizarre of ideas - Probably the latter, in this case. It ended up being so. "I have a better solution."  
  
The Black Hole soldiers turned and gazed at their leader, similarly- disturbing chuckles gurgling from their hideous throats. In what atrocious, malicious way would Lash ruthlessly do away with these pathetic, orange-clad worms? They could only stand there frenziedly and wait for her to lay her demented plan out to them, one of them hopping from one foot to the other excitedly.  
  
"Strip them of their clothing and let them loose at the nearest town."  
  
Everyone in the room stared at her.  
  
"What!?" one of the black-armored troopers yelled, even if to his commander.  
  
"Do not make me repeat myself." And Lash walked away to a nearby table to tend to whatever business of hers needed tending to, leaving everyone to stand or sit there in shock.  
  
Finally, one of the Black Hole soldiers turned towards another. "Alright, you strip them and I'll take them to the nearest town."  
  
"No," the other soldier growled, "YOU'LL strip them and I'LL take them to the nearest town."  
  
"Fine, I'll take them to the nearest town and you'll strip them."  
  
"That sounds acceptable . . . Wait."  
  
One of the Black Hole soldiers had walked away from the partially-bickering group of captors and captives to join Lash in whatever she was doing. It stood there next to her as she examined maps, documents, and the like, apparently attempting to formulate some sort of plan that the base would have to carry out sooner or later. It was normal, since missions were carried out quite often, but she had taken quite a lot more maps, documents, etcetera. Apparently, she was planning something big, or perhaps preparing. "My lady."  
  
Lash did not look up from what she was doing. "Speak."  
  
The trooper cleared its throat uncomfortably. "You do realize that with our location now known to the enemy that an attack upon us is inevitable. They won't wait long, either, since they feel they must end this war as soon as possible for them."  
  
"Do not take me as a fool," Lash countered, "I realize they know where we are."  
  
"But, my lady," the trooper said, its circular red eyes showing its worried demeanor, "they are coming."  
  
Lash turned around. That wry, vexatious smile of hers was still plastered right on her face, and it no doubt wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. Her eyes moved to the window and outside, towards the tall, towering turret of the Black Cannon off in the distance. It loomed above all other buildings of the Fate's Point base like some giant, biblical structure.  
  
And there was Kailaff Boldigh, his arms crossed tightly, staring toward the sky at nothing in particular as numerous Black Hole officers rearranged their paths to walk around him.  
  
"Let them come."  
  
---  
  
Glenn Gordon was walking along in a random hallway of the Reagan base, but if he tried hard enough, he thought he could still smell gunsmoke in the air, hanging around like some freeloading, disgusting roommate. The attack on their current home had been two days earlier, but they were all still trying to recover, especially Glenn.  
  
The hole that had been put in his gut still hurt like the dickens, and at times, he didn't even feel like getting up and out of bed. Still, he didn't want to turn into a marshmallow, and lying around doing nothing all day made him feel as though he'd grow as stiff as a twig if he did it long enough, so he often went around, simply walking. It was the steady approach to recovery, but he still had a long way to walk.  
  
But while the gunshot wound he had taken obviously gave him pain, nothing was worse than the terrible ache of knowing that Thunderbolt Squadron itself had been wounded, severely. Cassie LaGall was dead, and in the gun battle, Tristan Royal had taken hits to his right arm, successfully deactivating him from duty for the time being. The kid was certainly brave about it, but still, it only meant the squadron was short another pilot. And old Bubba had been wounded as well, though his injuries weren't as severe as Tristan's. He could still fly, but there was no telling how well he'd do so. And while Glenn wanted up in the air as soon as possible to ease his natural flying bug, it didn't look as though that'd be happening soon.  
  
He stopped a moment amidst the pain in his gut and sighed as he leaned softly against a partially blood-stained, unoccupied desk. He flexed the muscles in his stomach to try and get rid of the slight case of nausea he had, but that certainly didn't help much. Being shot did things to a man - Things Glenn was finding out now. It was an utterly miserable feeling, even though he was no longer in danger of dying. But for all the way he felt, he may as well just go ahead and jump off the nearest cliff.  
  
"Glenn, are you alright?" It was Tristan's voice. Glenn turned around on the desk slightly and gazed at the kid as he sat there like a bum with liver cancer, gripping his stomach tightly. Tristan's right arm was currently completely patched up and on a sling, and Glenn couldn't help but feel a little bad for the guy.  
  
"I'll be fine," the flight leader responded. "Do you need anything?"  
  
Tristan shrugged his unwounded arm. "Commander Beauregard has called all pilots to the briefing room."  
  
Glenn sighed again slightly. Beauregard still hadn't learned to use the base's loudspeakers correctly, so he usually just sent out a messenger. It annoyed Glenn, but there was nothing he could do about it. It wasn't that big of a deal anyway.  
  
"What for?" Glenn wanted to know.  
  
Again, the kid pilot raised his shoulder. "I don't know. If you could go and find that wild wingmate of yours, it'd help me out considerably. I've still got to tell more than a dozen-"  
  
"Alright, alright," Glenn interrupted, wanting the young pilot to get moving already. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone anyway, not wanting to offend Tristan greatly by telling him so. "I'll go find Tux, just get going."  
  
"Yes, sir." Tristan saluted Glenn swiftly and headed off, mumbling to himself, apparently trying to figure out who he needed to talk to next. The lead Thunderbolt just shook his head grimly in sympathy for the kid.  
  
He raised himself from his uncomfortable seat and headed to the pilot's wing. Tux was probably in their room - He hadn't gone out much since the attack on Reagan had occured, but that was acceptable to Glenn. Crazy old "Tornado Tux" settling down was a welcome event to everyone stationed at the entire base.  
  
Glenn decided knocking wouldn't get much of a response, so he simply opened their room's door without hesitation once he arrived at it. Tuxedo Ral was lying on his bed with his annoying little portable television on his stomach, watching Spongebob Squarepants or some such nonsensical program a guy like him would enjoy. Glenn ignored the television and stepped over to the bed.  
  
"They've called us to the briefing room, bud." Glenn stood there a moment, waiting for Tux's normally bizarre reaction, but he may as well just not have asked. Tux hardly budged. In fact, now that Glenn looked carefully, his crazy wingmate wasn't even concentrating on the television. The Thunderbolt leader looked carefully at the other, unusually calm pilot. "Tux."  
  
Tux's pupils suddenly moved up to Glenn's. "I hardly knew her, Glenn."  
  
"What?" The Thunderbolt leader instantly asked, blinking his eyes repeatedly in confusion. Tux had hardly known who?  
  
"Cass' was a little special to me." Tux looked at the television. His words obviously showed that while he was trying to be strong about the loss of their companion by acting as though it weren't a big deal, it was obviously hurting the normally carefree pilot.  
  
Glenn sighed and sat down on the bed next to his wingmate. "She was special to me too, Tux."  
  
The other pilot eyed his squadron leader as though he didn't quite believe what Glenn was saying. "Y'sure didn't act like it sometimes. All you two ever did was bicker like a couple of stubborn mules."  
  
"Well," Glenn mumbled, not really wanting to admit such a thing but knowing he had to, "everyone in this squadron is special to me. Each and every one."  
  
"Really?" Now it was Tux who was blinking in confusion as Glenn nodded in response.  
  
"Yeah. Before I re-enlisted in the air force, I was all alone. All of my friends were either dead or not worth being with anymore. And I was in a teaching job, but it wasn't going so well. I don't think any of my students liked me, and I really didn't care much for any of them at the same time, nor my colleagues. I just wasn't really going anywhere." Glenn picked at his fingernails, perhaps out of embarrassment for telling his boring old stories to someone like Tux. "And then I came home one day and something just told me I should get back into the air. So I did, and met the best friends I've ever had in the process. You, Bubba, Rainey, and those jets outside."  
  
Tux had by now shut off the television to listen to what Glenn had been saying. "I guess I never looked at this whole thing I've gotten myself into like that. I never really thought about it enough, but I'm pretty glad I am where I am too."  
  
Glenn just smiled in response. Then he hoisted himself off the bed.  
  
"So, are you gonna get yourself off your butt or do I have to carry you to the briefing room like the lazy sack of flak that you are?" Glenn grinned to let his friend know the jibe was good-natured, although he was really only half-kidding.  
  
"Wel-l-l-l-l," Tux groaned as he spent the next few dozen seconds swinging his body around off the messy bed, "I reckon so. At least I wasn't asleep like old Bubba, or you'd never get me up off this blamed thing. What're we going to the briefing room for, anyhow?"  
  
The Thunderbolt leader shook his head. "Beats the beans outta me. Maybe we're moving to a new base or something, who knows?"  
  
"Well, dang, that'd suck," Tux grumbled noisily. "Look what happened last time we moved. Almost got our butts shot down like a couple of birds when we arrived. That wasn't the most appreciated welcoming gift, if I recall correctly."  
  
"We're not gonna get the most appreciated welcoming gift either if we don't hurry up and get to that doggone briefing room. Come on!" Glenn finally just went and grabbed his slow-mo roommate by the arm, dragging him out the door, accompanied by whatever noisy verbal abuse this may have spouted from the wild Thunderbolt. There ended up being quite alot of it. Glenn couldn't help but wonder if Tux would feel more at home in the middle of a jungle at times, and right now was no exception.  
  
The briefing room was filled with as many pilots as Glenn had ever seen at any base he'd been at previously in his military career. Apparently, every single pilot stationed at Reagan was already there, sitting, waiting for George Beauregard to begin his usual briefing statements to them. Gordon pondered to himself for a moment, wondering what in blue blazes was so big that every pilot needed to be present to hear about it.  
  
Now that Glenn looked, he noticed a familiar face - and familiar body bulk standing near Beauregard at the front of the room. Strangely enough, the giant man had a larger body size than even Bubba Boggs, and his blue hair and inhumanly-sized muscles made his identity unmistakable.  
  
I'll be dogged if that's not Commanding Officer Max! Glenn instantly thought.  
  
He had never had the oppurtunity to meet Commanding Officer Max in person, but from what Glenn had heard, the mountain of a man was quite possibly Orange Star's most valuable combat overseer. Somehow, with him leading, military forces always seemed to perform better in combat, as though Max's leadership gave them internal strength, the desire to see their missions to the end. Just looking at the big man standing up there near Commander Beauregard gave Glenn that bizarre yet strength-fed feeling, but at the same time, there was the undeniable realization that if Max were involved somehow with whatever Beauregard was going to brief them on, he was about to be put through quite the great deal of work up there in the air.  
  
Glenn and his obnoxious wingmate sat down in a pair of empty chairs and similarly waited, generally looking mentally lost among themselves. Glenn disliked having to be surrounded by so many people, but it couldn't be helped. His natural desire for privacy would just have to deal with it.  
  
Beauregard stepped up to the podium at the front of the room, clearing his throat. The light chatter in the room ceased to exist, and the briefing began.  
  
"Good afternoon, my friends," the Commander began timidly. "I'm glad I have your attention, because you'll want to listen to every word I'm about to say. Hours ago, we recieved word from intelligence units of a Black Hole military headquarters in place near the Fate's Point mountain range. Apparently, the base is one of Black Hole's largest on this entire continent. Considering Fate's Point geographical position, the Fate's Point base is versatile enough to be Orange Star's greatest threat at this moment, and something obviously needs to be done about it. This is where Operation Mountain Strike comes in.  
  
"This will be a joint operation. We're going in with as much power as we can muster, so squadrons will be sent from Reagan, Lincoln, Taft, and many other air force bases in the near vicinity. At the same time, however, we'll be moving in with as many ground forces as we can gather. It is imperative that the Fate's Point Black Hole base is taken out of commission, even if the operation takes days." Beauregard nodded to the muscle man behind him. "Commanding Officer Max with more details."  
  
Max stepped up to the podium, cracking his knuckles as though he were about to take control of a tank or plane himself. "Alright, everyone. Your main objective should be pretty obvious - Find the main command center and blow it to smithereens. You'll also probably have to engage any enemy fighters that oppose you, since we also recieved word of air units at the base."  
  
Then he looked hard at all the pilots. "I'm only here to give you support. I won't lie to you - This operation could change the outcome of this war by itself. But even if things are really looking bad in the middle of it, don't give up. If you give up, we lose. And that just can't happen. You've got to fight, and fight, and fight, until you can't even think anymore. They may have the greater numbers, but we've got the will, people. And no matter what anyone tells you, will counts. It does."  
  
Glenn couldn't help but nod slightly during those final words.  
  
"Alright," Max then stated, finishing up, "you'll get more in-depth details when you take off. You launch into the air tomorrow at four in the morning, so someone will be come by your rooms to wake you up an hour earlier, at three. It should go without saying that you need to go to bed early tonight. DON'T stay up late."  
  
And as this last part finished, Max's eyes moved right to Tux. Everyone in the room noticed. Glenn couldn't help but stifle a laugh as poor Tuxedo Ral shifted uncomfortably in his seat under the eyes of the elite Commanding Officer and all the other pilots. Somewhere along the way, Max had obviously somehow heard of Tux and his demented, sleepless ways at times, but this wasn't something Glenn was terribly shocked about. Tux's exploits were the stuff legends were made of.  
  
"You're dismissed until then," Beauregard said, stepping up next to Max, "call family, write a will, smoke a cigarette, whatever you feel needs to be done. Just get to bed early, like Max said.'  
  
Tux groaned quietly when he saw Beauregard's eyes shift toward him as well.  
  
Glenn finally just laughed to himself and slapped his wingmate on the back as they stood up to shuffle out of the room with all the other pilots. "Don't worry about it, Tux. All air force bases have their legends. Krazy Kel Logan, Hungry Joe, Toonces, Pablo the Pig Pilot - Wasn't he the one who weighed more than his plane?"  
  
"Thanks," Tux grumbled, "I feel oh so much better."  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
FINALLY. This chapter is completed. I don't have any good excuses other than pre-G.E.D. testing and boredom with this particular chapter since it seemed utterly bland to write, so I'm sorry it took so darn long to get up. I hope the next chapter doesn't take so long to get up, since it's the fanfic's climax. I apologize for the lengthy wait. Hopefully, it won't occur AGAIN, since that would make it the umpteenth time or so. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I also hope you R+R. Thanks for reading. 


	15. The Battle of Fate's Point

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Fifteen: The Battle of Fate's Point~  
  
~----~  
  
For the first few moments, when Glenn awoke, he didn't quite know where he was. Initially, the darkness around him was mysterious, confusing, but then he remembered that he was supposed to be getting up early. The second thing he realized was that someone was knocking on his room's door, and loudly. It was the start to what was sure to be the most dramatic day of Glenn Gordon's life thus far.  
  
He went through his traditional wake-up routine, heading into the room's very cramped restroom to shower, brush his teeth, and the like, but today, something told him that this very well may be the last time he performed his usual morning practices here at Reagan, or perhaps anywhere. Still, he waited until he was done getting ready to wake up Tux, since the man absolutely loathed being forced to get up early. Besides, he had probably ended up staying up late anyway, even with their decisive mission coming today.  
  
As Glenn readied himself for the slowly-awakening day in the restroom, he couldn't help but feel ill at ease. Thunderbolt Squadron was short two pilots and had a cripple or two in it already, with Glenn and Bubba still recovering from the wounds they had taken in the gunfight not three days earlier. Glenn's hand brushed over his stomach as he looked down at where the bullet had penetrated his body. A very black feeling ran through him as he remembered the chaos on that day, as he remembered what had happened to him. As he remembered that he had almost died.  
  
What were they doing? This was probably going to be the biggest fight of his life. Yet their squadron was bloodied, unprepared for what lay ahead. This was wrong.  
  
Still, he had no choice. He was a fighter pilot, and he had to do what was necessary of him as long as he remained in such a role. At least he knew he was with friends here - Friends who would shield him so long as he shielded them. The exchange was still there, and forever it would stay now.  
  
A dank mist hung over the Reagan base's tarmac as the six Thunderbolt pilots shuffled out of the central building and headed for the orange fighter jets sitting patiently, waiting for their comrades. The first thing Glenn noticed when he stepped out the door and onto the tarmac's concrete was that a light rain was accompanying the mist and the darkness. Perhaps it was an omen, but he didn't know whether to look at it as positive or negative.  
  
Decked out completely in their flight glear, the pilots loaded themselves up and awaited the command for taxiing as the safety crews gave their final check-overs on the planes. By now, the other squadrons were filing out of the base and were making their way towards their own fighters, although Thunderbolt Squadron would be lifting off first.  
  
It wasn't until fifteen minutes after the squadron had wrapped themselves into their fighters that the jets began to shuffle off the tarmac and onto the runway with the acceptance from the ever-minding control tower. Glenn was last to take off since he felt a leader always stayed until the end for his subordinates, or in this case, his friends. He now had grown strong views toward what a leader was supposed to be, and he made sure he would follow those views to the best of his ability, even if they would get him killed.  
  
The Reagan-based squadrons flew over the grassy Macro regions, a few farmers gazing up at the sound of what seemed to be a thousand angry locomotives blazing overhead in unison. But in the darkness, the ground- dwellers saw nothing. There was only the sound of the fighter jets, and it only helped to remind them of the current state their country was in.  
  
Over time, more squadrons joined the Reagans, consisting of both fighters and bombers. Glenn was near the front of the large-scale aerial convoy, but if he looked behind him in his seat, he would have seen more aircraft than he could ever hope to count. Still, he knew they were there, and looking at them would only worry him more about their situation.  
  
He sat there tensely in the cockpit of his fighter, wishing the day would end quickly - But when it did end, he hoped he would be there to finish it.  
  
Past Fog Valley the squadrons flew, taking a north-easterly route. The pleasant, grassy areas began to give way to darker scenery, rocky terrain, dead foliage. If Black Hole had to have a base anywhere, it would have to have been here, Glenn realized. No other force could be so despicably evil and put a base in this atrocious region.  
  
By the time an hour and a half had passed since they had taken off, if he looked hard enough, Glenn thought he could see the giant peak of Fate's Point beginning to make its presence known in the distance. He went through a final, mental checklist of what he would have to do when combat inevitably arose. Since the ground forces couldn't arrive at the base as soon as the air forces could, they'd have to go it alone for some time. Still, they had more than enough fighters and bombers here to lay waste to half the Macro-Orange Star region entirely. There was no way that this particular Black Hole base could match strength against theirs.  
  
"I have visual confirmation on Fate's Point," the leading pilot's voice crackled into the helmet radio all the pilots wore. "Our estimated arrival time is three minutes."  
  
Three minutes left. Glenn shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wondering what was going to occur when the squadrons launched their initial attack on the Fate's Point base. But the base itself still wasn't visible, with the darkness and all. But he should have been able to see lights and such, emenating from the base like big beacons pointing the attacking squadrons in the right direction. Glenn found the lack of light bizarre, but perhaps Black Hole felt darkness was their greatest ally.  
  
Two minutes left. He should have been able to see the base by now. The sun wouldn't be coming up for another ten minutes or so, and the fighters didn't come equipped with any sort of night-vision-capable equipment.  
  
For a moment, Glenn wondered if they were all headed in the right direction, if the Fate's Point base was actually on the other side of the mountain range itself, but if that were so, wouldn't he have been able to see the light pollution created by the base? Something here wasn't right.  
  
One minute left. By now, Glenn was very worried, not only for himself but for the safety of his comrades. He checked his radars and instruments, but nothing came out surprising. Apparently, the man leading all the squadrons was feeling just as ill at ease as the Thunderbolt leader was.  
  
"Maintain visual scanning." That was all that needed to be said at the moment.  
  
Still, Glenn was utterly perplexed. Could the information they had recieved have been incorrect somehow? But that was impossible. Those soldiers had risked their lives to bring their leaders such information, and everyone knew what Fate's Point looked like. What was the deal here? And as if that weren't illogical enough, Glenn felt, the only reason the enemy would have shut down the base's lights would be if they knew the Orange Star attack was comi-  
  
"KUH-BOOM!"  
  
The deafening explosion rumbled through the atmosphere as though some great meteor had slammed into Wars World.  
  
An enormous, bright flash of light had caught the corners of Glenn's vision moments before the violent explosive sound had torn through his hearing. At first, he couldn't help but wonder if someone had just nuked the bottom of Fate's Point, but then he realized that it had been an immense muzzle flash. And that was when the automobile-sized projectile had shot right past him and slammed into a large patch of Orange Star fighters.  
  
Another explosion linked the horrible sounds, but this one had come from behind a now-terrified Glenn. In an instant, five or six Orange Star fighters had been flying along casually as though nothing were wrong, and now they were all dropping to the dirt, hardly anything remaining of them. Hardly anything. The fighters had literally disintigrated, vaporized in the explosion that had occured when the enormous shell slammed into one of them.  
  
Before Glenn could speak, chatter consumed the radio.  
  
"What the hell was that!?"  
  
"What's going on!?"  
  
"Holy crap!"  
  
"What should we do, lead!?"  
  
There was no answer to the last one. Glenn blinked confusedly for a second, then immediately realized what exactly was going on. Frantically, he shoved his fighter down into a spiral, just as the bright-yellow streaks of bullets shooting up from the ground toward the squadrons signified enemy anti-air units stationed all over the ground. "It's a trap! Thunderbolts, look out!"  
  
Glenn's squadron complied without hesitation. The five fighters thundered downwards after their leader as most of the other Orange Star air forces volleyed around in a terrible mish-mash of confusion. Over the radio, Glenn could hear the squadron leaders attempting to get their comrades in- line, to get them all together successfully, but it would take some time. Time they didn't have. Glenn was glad to get his squadron away from them, otherwise they may have been stuck in the middle of all of the whole messy tangle.  
  
But then there came a warning to which he hadn't quite been prepared for. "Missile! Missile!"  
  
His eyes shot down towards the ground. Another projectile was clearly headed for the attacking forces he was a part of, the same attacking forces who had not yet gotten themselves out of the web they were tied up in. "Everyone, look out! Get out of there!"  
  
But his own words would be of no use. Another Orange Star fighter exploded, sending shards of flaming shrapnel flying in a thousand multiple directions. But the explosion seemed to help untangle the giant mess of disoriented confusion the air force was caught up in, and many of them dove towards the ground in an attempt to catch up with Thunderbolt Squadron.  
  
Some of them didn't make it. The bright anti-air rounds tore through numerous aircraft and sent them spiraling towards the dark ground as though someone had just taken jackhammers to them. Any hopes of the air force even launching their attack at all began to fade away as the casualties mounted, and they weren't even fifteen seconds into the combat phase of the operation.  
  
With uncountable numers of sickeningly powerful, yellow-hued anti-air rounds racing up into the sky all around him, Glenn ratcheted the throttle up to full as he shot towards the ground at well over mach one, his five wingmates all by his sides. The fighters each reached a stomach-twisting eight hundred miles an hour as gravity helped pull them towards the base, and Glenn in particular was forced to keep his mind and eyes steady at such a speed. One never quite got used to such actions, especially in the middle of death.  
  
"Missile from the base's east! Heads up!" Glenn was thankful to have so many eyes and ears watching out for he and everyone else. This time, everyone was tensed up and fully aware enough of their surroundings that this missile from a random rocket launcher on the Fate's Point base skewed past each and every one of them. It fluttered off clumsily towards nowhere in particular as the Orange Star air attackers raced towards the base.  
  
Glenn smirked, despite what was going on around him. "Good job, guys!"  
  
But the smirk instantly faded, even before he finished his sentence. That terrifying, bright muzzle flash had just come a second time.  
  
"LOOK OUT!" he shouted over the radio as he shoved the stick forward as hard as it would go. The Thunderbolts, still following their leader, made the same movement as they felt the disturbingly enormous projectile fly over them, its propulsion sending a tremendous fan of air onto their canopies.  
  
And there was that deafening boom again. Glenn was prepared for it this time, but it still hurt his ears like nothing else could. It was the most terrible sound he had ever heard in his entire life, but more explosions from behind him threatened to take over that role in a heart-beat.  
  
Glenn wouldn't have to turn around to know they had lost even more aircraft now. Whatever that damned thing was on the ground that was firing such atrocious ammunition at them, it was doing a good job of clearing out the Orange Star numbers. By now, they had lost approximately half of their initial numbers, and the operation had just started! Glenn thought for a moment that this was suicide, but then, something within him told him to keep going. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't bother asking it any useless questions, since he partially agreed with the feeling over the matter.  
  
Three thousand feet above the ground, Glenn pulled back on the yoke and leveled his fighter out, the Thunderbolts skillfully following the maneuver. This made it harder for anti-air units and rockets to track them and make contact with whatever it was they fired. But that wouldn't matter soon enough, for Glenn just noticed as he leveled out that the attacks from the base had ceased.  
  
It immediately struck him as abnormal that the Fate's Point had suddenly canceled out its attack on the oncoming Orange Star air forces. Initially, he wondered what on Wars World had caused the halt to the action, but then, his mind centered on the only logical explanation. Without waiting, he pulled back on the yoke, heading right back up to a higher altitude as he called out to his allies. "Maintain radar scanning! Watch for enemy fighters!"  
  
He wouldn't have to wait long for an answer as he shot upwards. A random pilot lost in the middle of the air force was the first one to get the news out. "I have multiple bandits on radar, they're coming to join us!"  
  
Glenn checked his own radar. It told him that what the pilot had said wasn't false. Indeed, as he raised his head and looked out the canopy, he could clearly see in the darkness multiple jet engines shooting up from the ground. The enemy fighters were obviously taking off, but they would be engaged in combat soon enough. Glenn didn't want to wait for them to come up and join them for tea - He wanted them dead, now. "Follow me, Thunderbolts! Hit the runway!"  
  
Thunderbolt Squadron shot towards the enemy Black Hole runway, missiles spewing out from under their wings as they drew within closing distance. Dome-shaped explosions rocked the air field as the squadron succeeded in taking out more than a few Black Hole aircraft, though not all of them were fighters. Still, the enemy numbers dwindled, and that was satisfactory in Glenn's view. "Let's hit 'em a second time! Come around again!"  
  
"Roger Wilco, boss," Tux chuckled as he closed up to Glenn's wing. Was the guy having fun or something? Glenn didn't want to know - Although he himself did get a kick out of taking out anything that was painted black, at the moment. Fair enough, he thought. Maybe if he took Tux's approach, things wouldn't look so grim.  
  
The six Orange Star fighters each began a wide turn as they circled back around toward the runway.  
  
Deep inside the Black Cannon's main control room, Lash stood behind the alien chief operator, her thin arms at her sides blankly as she stared at the numerous visual monitors showcasing the battle. Her bland eyes moved away from the monitors to look at the repulsive cannon operator in the chair at the main operations terminal. "Isn't it lovely?"  
  
The Black Hole alien hesitated, then turned around to stare at her with its big, red pupils a moment in befuddlement. "Excuse me, my lady?"  
  
"Isn't it lovely?" she repeated a second time in the exact same tone.  
  
The operator sat there, staring at her.  
  
Then it turned around and looked at the numerous monitors representing toppling levels of death and destruction. Was Lash talking about all of that? The cannon operator gurgled its slimy throat in disgust with both the commander and the fact that it had to sit here risking its life for this ridiculous war. The blamed roof could cave in on them at any moment because one lone Orange Star fighter decided to be a hero and fire a missile at the dome-shaped building the turret sat on. Didn't Lash care?  
  
Apparently not. At the moment, she was standing there, chuckling to herself at every little explosion she viewed, even the ones blatantly showcasing their own side's carnage. The operator would have rolled its eyes, if it had such a physical ability.  
  
It hesitated again, its mind obviously fixed on something. Worriedly, the operator tilted its head slightly as it examined the numerous battles on the monitors. "My lady, didn't Kailaff Boldigh go up with his squadron?"  
  
"I believe he did," Lash responded blankly.  
  
The operator turned in its chair slightly. "I'm curious as to how that little strategy of his is going to come in handy in such a fight as this. There are far too many enemy fighters for him to successfully check and see which is the leader, and he couldn't possibly-"  
  
"There is no need for concern," Lash answered, interrupting the agitated operator as explosions from outside caused the walls around them to rumble slightly. "Kailaff Boldigh is the greatest pilot in the world. He will find the enemy leader, and when he does, he will kill them. He does not need a worthless sack of mesh like you criticizing him."  
  
Mumbling quietly to itself, the very annoyed operator turned back around to stare at the visuals disgustedly. "Yes, why should a worthless being like myself be concerned with such things? I'm only a bloody Major, that's all . . ."  
  
Suddenly, without warning, Lash smiled meekly at the operator. "Fire the cannon again."  
  
The creature whirled around. "What!?"  
  
"Fire the cannon again." Same tone, same expression.  
  
"But our own fighters are up there! We'll take losses!" Any attempt to counter what its commander told it would probably prove to be useless, but by God, the operator had to try. For all it knew, the commander wasn't grasping the situation logically at all.  
  
"Do it. Concentrate the fire on the largest area of enemy forces."  
  
And that was that. The operator had no choice, provided it didn't want to upset Lash and make her have it be killed right there in its seat. Flustered and agitated, the operator went through the firing procedures, pulling a bank of switches on the terminal. "Ten seconds to firing."  
  
Back outside, the air battle was by now raging. Black Hole now matched Orange Star's numbers, if not by more, and Thunderbolt Squadron was racing towards the enormous fur ball that had ensued right over the base. Bright explosions scorned the skies, accompanied by the bright yellow of bullets being fired, and the long streaks of blue and yellow thanks to missiles being fired every waking moment.  
  
"Engage at will!" Glenn shot right into the midst of the fight and found himself struggling immediately. As if he didn't have enough trouble trying to take down enemy fighters, the constant source of worry was not smashing right into a fellow Orange Star plane. It seemed as though every jet was tied together by a giant mess of rope that kept them together in this whole tangle.  
  
He made no attempt to target any one fighter specifically. There were just too many of them right now. He had to take whatever was given to him. And it didn't help that the radio was being overrun with yells and warnings consisting mostly of "I got one" and "there's one on me," nevermind the fact these people didn't bother listing their names or positions. Things were getting rough.  
  
Blowing apart a Black Hole fighter easily enough as he swept this way and that way, looped over here and over there, and barreled like a corkscrew right through a patch of indiscernable fighters, Glenn couldn't help but wonder how he'd ever gotten himself into this mess. This did indeed feel like one of the lesser-known forms of suicide, but he tried to etch that out of his mind at the moment.  
  
"KAH-BOOM!"  
  
Oh damn, Glenn thought. "Heads up!"  
  
But the enormous projectile apparently moved at the speed of sound, so Glenn's warning wouldn't help at all. More fighters exploded in firey infernoes, but this time, a few Black Hole fighters went with them. Startled by such ferocious neglegence for comradery in the Black Hole ranks, Glenn shot a glare towards where the newest muzzle flash had come from.  
  
This time, though, as he looked towards the ground, he could see the cannon itself. The sun was starting to come up by the smallest amount, and a dank blue hung over the area, giving the attackers a little more visual comprehension of the ground and their targets. If Glenn could have, and without dying, he would have kissed the sun. "Look at that thing! It's a giant cannon!"  
  
Immediately, he knew what he had to do, even while recieving numerous perplexed responses over the communications radio. His mission plan had just changed. Pitching the flight stick forward, Glenn took off directly for that enormous cannon, the source of their troubles. "Thunderbolts, come with me to the cannon! Hit it with everything you've got!"  
  
"Don't fly in its firing direction!" Bubba yelled as the six fighters burst out of the immense dogfight, shooting like a couple of missiles towards the giant cannon and the dome building it sat on.  
  
As they began to race towards the tremendous structure, now that the margin for error had diminished, anti-air units began taking fire at them once again in an attempt to stop the squadron's run. Glenn shoved the yoke every which way he could to avoid the bright streaks of yellow that threatened to shoot him out of the sky like a bird. "Anti-air! Heads up!"  
  
Like an age-old group of knights riding into doom, the Thunderbolts drew ever closer to the cannon that sat waiting for its own destruction as they spiraled around in any direction they could to avoid the anti-air units' gunfire. But then, the gunfire suddenly stopped again. This time, though, Glenn was ready. "Keep an eye on your radars! We're gonna have company!"  
  
And there they came. The pilots of the squadron. Underneath it all, Glenn knew exactly who these enemy pilots were. The large, black hawk emblem on one of the enemy fighers' wings clearly expressed who the leader of this particular enemy squadron was, at that. Instantly, the Thunderbolt leader knew he was in for a hellish fight. "Watch out, 'bolts, these guys are tough! You should know who they are by now!"  
  
"We'll handle them just fine, boss," the ever-arrogant Tuxedo Ral countered as his eyes immediately moved towards the plane marked 'Gallow.' The very same plane that was headed toward his own, obviously challenging him. "I believe I have somethin' to settle with this one here, so you folks just ignore us, if you would be so kind."  
  
Glenn grinned in the midst of all of this. "Whatever you say, wing."  
  
I have my own little score to settle, too, he then thought. There it came, blowing past his own orange fighter. The enemy Black Hole jet with the hawk emblems.  
  
Turning the yoke hard to starboard, Glenn began an attempt to come around to get Kailaff Boldigh into firing range, but by now he knew the other pilot was an undeniably skilled one. Boldigh would not let himself be so easily taken out. Already the pilot was in a loop, trying to come around on Glenn himself.  
  
Gordon wasn't quite able to get moving quick enough at first, though. A noisy beeping sound suddenly arose in his cockpit. Boldigh was attempting to get a missile lock on him. "Crap!"  
  
Hauling the flight stock backwards and to the right ever so slightly, Glenn shot past Boldigh's descending fighter in a lopsided corkscrew maneuver. The beeping sound subsided, allowing the lead Thunderbolt to breathe again, or breathe as well as he could have in the middle of all of this.  
  
Boldigh's fighter ceased the plunge it was in and began to rise back upwards, turning as it did to try and get this tenacious Orange Star fighter that had plagued it for so long into its line of sight. But Glenn was already gone from where he'd been, circling the other jet like a buzzard. The custom Black Hole fighter slowed greatly as the tightness of the turn increased, still trying to grab at Gordon's plane and throw it towards the ground.  
  
But then, all of a sudden, streaks of yellow shot past Boldigh's plane. Obviously, it startled him, since he was so fixed on this one lone fighter jet for some reason, and the experienced pilot was forced to concentrate on the gunfire from another plane for a hair of a second, avoiding it with apparent ease.  
  
In this one moment, though, he ignored Gordon. Having evaded the gunfire, Boldigh once again centered on taking out the Orange Star Thunderbolt leader, but before he could even think about doing so, a noisy beeping sounded out from his controls. Boldigh didn't care at first, but when the beeping became a long, constant note that never finished, he cursed out loud and shoved his own control stick hard to port as a missile blew right past his sailing fighter.  
  
Glenn Gordon, with assistance from Achmed Yahasititapen, had just showed Kailaff Boldigh that the Black Hole pilot was not quite as immovably skilled as people seemed to think he was.  
  
Tux, meanwhile, was busy struggling against Zodo Gallow, the obvious second- in-command of Boldigh's squadron. The two of them were locked in a tremendous death-dance, neither of them really being able to take a potshot at the other at the moment. It would seem that it would stay that way until one or the other eventually passed out for exhaustion, but that was quite frankly unacceptable, in Tux's view. He had to beat this guy somehow.  
  
But then, an explosion. Tux didn't bother to look, since he was so concentrated on what he was doing, but one of Boldigh's squadron members had just taken a missile to its rear fuselage, courtesy of Fel Banon. The destroyed Black Hole fighter plummeted to the ground, but Tux noticed that Zodo Gallow had to take care to avoid the flaming wreckage.  
  
Not hesitating to wait for a second chance, Tux skillfully took the oppurtunity to get the busy Gallow within his gun sights, and he initiated the missile lock-on procedure.  
  
The familiar beeping came about as he carefully moved the control stick, trying to get a lock on Gallow. The enemy squadron pilot was by now aware of the situation he was in and was currently executing a combination of random, wild movements, but whatever he did, Tuxedo Ral hung with him as though he were a skilled member of Boldigh's squadron himself.  
  
Finally, the beeping became constant. Gallow's fighter was locked.  
  
But Tux didn't fire. He only waited.  
  
Then, as he had predicted so, the enemy plane leveled out casually as though its fighting were done, and it was time to head home. Zodo Gallow had just surrendered.  
  
Tux grinned to himself. The first time he and Gallow had been in combat against each other, the enemy pilot had broken off his attack and come up onto Tux's wing, actually giving a friendly-enough wave to the Orange Star pilot. At first, Tuxedo had been utterly startled and confused, but later, after giving it some thought, he'd realized Gallow obviously held at least some respect towards the pilots he fought against.  
  
And now, though he hadn't killed Gallow, he'd defeated him. Kailaff Boldigh's squadron was falling apart.  
  
Still, it wasn't over yet. Glenn Gordon was still locked in his own battle with Boldigh, and he was by now growing frustrated with the situation he was in. They said a cornered rat could fight like a powerful lion, and now Glenn certainly believed the saying. Boldigh was tougher now if anything.  
  
But then, suddenly, Glenn noticed Boldigh was no longer chasing him. The enemy pilot was now fixed on another Thunderbolt - Rainey Banker. "Rainey, he's on you! Get out of there!"  
  
"I can't lose him!" the female pilot called back as she sent her fighter into a series of random twists and turns to evade the tenacious Boldigh's attempt at a missile lock. Whatever she did, it just wasn't enough. Boldigh was too skilled and experienced for Rainey to simply get away from him. Wheeling her fighter around, she prepared for the missile that Boldigh would inevitably send her way.  
  
"Rainey!" Glenn called a second time out of terror.  
  
"KAH-BOOM!"  
  
The sound wave pummeled the numerous fighters locked in the fight next to the cannon.  
  
This time, the Black Cannon had been aiming towards the largest patch of Thunderbolts in the dogfight with Boldigh's squadron. The projectile flew through the air, accompanying the tremendous sound it brought about.  
  
Rainey and most everyone else for that matter saw the immense muzzle flash. No longer caring about Boldigh or his inevitable missile, she shoved the stick backwards as hard as she could to get out of the way of the cannon projectile coming their way. It blew under her at a scarily faster speed than she was traveling at as she spiraled around, four G's threatening to knock her out. Most every other pilot took care to keep far away from the projectile's obvious path as well, most of them taking into consideration the direction the turret was pointed.  
  
But one pilot in particular did not notice the muzzle flash.  
  
Kailaff Boldigh was known for having a great amount of patience and concentration. It had won him many battles against even the best of enemy pilots, sometimes waiting for hours on end to make his strike. His skill harkened back to the days of early wars, where pilots had to wait for hours on end as well in their ruddy old biplanes, trying to gather up enough patience to lash out at their opponent when the perfect oppurtunity finally arose.  
  
Today, his skill would be his downfall.  
  
As Rainey Banker shot upwards, Boldigh hauled back on his own stick, pitching his fighter in a laterall direction.  
  
The projectile blazed under Rainey's plane at that very moment. Into the bottom-back of Boldigh's plane it slammed, tearing right through it with the strength of a multi-million man army. The Black Hole fighter lopped forward from the impact and spun around and around at an unpredictable speed, the gravitational forces immediately knocking the fighter's experienced pilot unconcious.  
  
Glenn, and everyone in the entire dogfight in particular, stared at Kailaff Boldigh's fighter jet. It spiraled forward with no sign of slowing anytime soon. Finally, after a dramatic few seconds, the partially-destroyed plane careened right into the side of the Black Cannon's turret and exploded, taking a good deal of the turret itself with it in its final destruction. The turret began to crumble completely, destroyed.  
  
Glenn Gordon sat there a moment, taking what had just happened in.  
  
Cheering and yelling erupted over the radio. The rest of Boldigh's squadron was surrendering in the same manner that Zodo Gallow had, and the cannon was now inoperable. And as if things weren't looking up enough, the larger aerial battle over the Fate's Point base had finally been decided. Whatever was left of the Black Hole air force was bugging out and returning to the mostly-demolished runway as the entire Orange Star aerial attackers pursued them.  
  
Glenn suddenly realized that the fight was over. The Orange Star ground forces would be arriving soon to clean up what was left of the Fate's Point base, since insurmountable aircraft had plunged into every part of it, destroying who knew how many structures and taking who knew how many lives.  
  
But it was over. He smiled slightly to himself and sighed.  
  
But there was the nagging feeling that somehow, it WASN'T over. Something just didn't feel right.  
  
Glenn hesitated a moment, then looked back at the Black Cannon.  
  
Inside the cannon's dome-building, at the control room, Lash stood there, brooding, obviously baffled as the walls around them shook, as explosions sounded out around her in the building. She couldn't fathrom what she had done wrong. She was the commander of the greatest weapon ever built, she held the trigger to destruction of their enemies. Yet they were all but defeated, those same enemies threatening to run them over at any moment.  
  
But there was still fun to be had. There was still a way to keep those enemies from overrunning the Black Hole cause for which she fought.  
  
Lash stared at the still-annoyed and now very-terrified terminal operator as a fire broke out on a control panel on the opposite side of the room. "Fire the cannon."  
  
The operator turned in its seat, eyeing her strangely, as though what she was saying was on the verge of being the words of a brainless doof. "Excuse me?"  
  
"Fire the cannon." As always, same tone. Same bland expression on that disturbing face of hers.  
  
"You've got be kidding, my lady," the operator gurgled, "the turret is inoperable. If we try and fire the cannon, it'll result in a multi-megaton explosion. Everything within miles will be wiped clear off the face of this world!"  
  
"I know." That was her only response.  
  
Glaring at her, the cannon operator stood up from its seat. "You, my lady, are insane, and I do not wish to be a part of your mad thirst for death. Goodbye, my lady."  
  
And the operator left to seek shelter with the rest of its alien comrades, leaving Lash to stand there a moment. She approached the terminal and began punching in random numbers, initiating the cannon's powering-up procedure. This would take care of their enemies just fine. Just fine.  
  
The Black Hole commander smiled slightly as she finished the initial procedures. Then, finally, she had the pleasure of pressing the large, ominous yellow button in the center of the console.  
  
Ten seconds to firing. The terminal counted the seconds away audibly over the building's radios. She stood back away from the terminal and giggled like a happy little girl to herself.  
  
Suddenly, she stopped giggling and looked toward the ceiling.  
  
The high-pitched screams of multiple missiles had just overcome the counting.  
  
Thunderbolt Squadron blazed away from the Black Cannon as the dome-shaped building the turret sat on exploded in a firey blaze, the enormous boom sounding off across the landscape. The fighter jets each performed more than a few rolls as pilots cheered and shouted victory praises over the communications radio in their helmets.  
  
Glenn, in particular, didn't care to pitch his fighter into a roll out of happiness. He simply took joy in the fact that the battle was over, and that he hadn't lost a single wingmate today. He grinned in satisfaction as he watched his friends pull a load of stunt-like maneuvers through the air.  
  
"Alright, 'Bolts," he said, his grin only widening, "let ground forces handle the rest of the operation. We're goin' home."  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
That was fun to write. Too bad I'm worn out, now - Oh well. It was worth it, and I'm glad I got this particular chapter finally done. I hope you enjoyed it. And, Lightningfencer, if you meant "part III," since the first Fighters story sort of IS part I, well, I suppose that as long as Wars games surrounding Orange Star, Blue Moon, and etcetera keep coming out, there'll be a Fighters story to accompany them, IF I can come up with a plot. Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you R+R. Stick around, the finale of "the Fighters: Part II" is next. 


	16. In Echelon We'll Carry On

DISCLAIMER - I do not own Advance Wars or anything copyrightedly relating to within, which is copyrighted and owned by Nintendo, although I do happen to like this piece of work I've written and if I ever discover some random lamer forging it in their name I will be substantially cheesed off, and nasty letters from me will commence bombardment on said lamer. So don't even bother stealing it. However, you MAY place this on your website without my consent should it have an Advance Wars fanfiction section. If that happened and I discovered such a thing has occured, I'd actually be quite flattered. Thank you, and enjoy.  
  
______________  
  
The Fighters - Part II  
  
By RustyD  
  
______________  
  
~----~  
  
~Mission Sixteen: In Echelon We'll Carry On~  
  
~----~  
  
The sweeping of the Fate's Point base proceeded smoothly. Whatever was left of Black Hole forces surrendered to Orange Star troops without hesitation, knowing their fighting for this cause of theirs was finished. Orange Star seized control of numerous weaponry and machinery at that, and this would undoubtedly aid them in the inevitable future battles they would face against their adversaries.  
  
Kailaff Boldigh's squadron was decimated as well. Zodo Gallow had been arrested by troops, as well as anyone else left in the unit. The skies seemed relatively happy at this, as for the first time in weeks, the clouds over the Fate's Point base gave way to just the smallest bit of sunlight. It was a welcome sight to all the Orange Star troops and officials currently sweeping through the destroyed base, despite the carnage that lay all around them.  
  
Nothing was discovered of the Black Cannon's human trigger, however. Lash's remains were nowhere to be found, whether inside the cannon compound or outside. While the Orange Star troops had suspected one of Black Hole's main commanding officers was behind such a monstrous construction as the cannon, they could find no evidence of anyone of importance, besides the innumerable numbers of Black Hole soldiers lying all over the place as though a great battle on-foot had just occured right in the middle of the Fate's Point base.  
  
But this didn't matter to Thunderbolt Squadron. The six orange fighter jets had already landed at the Reagan air force base, the pilots out and on the tarmac, walking along in silence towards the base's command center. There was no giant celebration to greet the pilots, no hero's welcoming, no thanks of any sort to welcome them as they returned from the great battle that had just occured.  
  
The pilots simply walked along quietly, swiftly.  
  
The debriefing was done with soon enough. With Commanding Officer Max by his side, Commander Beauregard issued his personal thanks towards all the pilots who had participated in the attack, and made special commendations towards Thunderbolt Squadron, the unit that had single-handedly taken apart Kailaff Boldigh's elite squadron and destroyed the cannon that plagued them all during the battle. He said more than was probably necessary, but he was truly grateful towards all of the squadrons and their members.  
  
"Today," he said as he stood at the podium, addressing the pilots, "is a day that will go down in history as one of Orange Star's finest days of victory. In the face of death, you all showed honor and valor, fighting for your country, your lives, your families, your friends, and your way of life. While some of us are no longer here to share this day of victory, rest assured, they stand alongside us in the name of freedom and liberty. For your acts today, each and every one of you will recieve the Military Cross. Wear the honorable medal proudly."  
  
It had lasted a little longer, with Beauregard finishing with words of wisdom to the pilots. Glenn Gordon was glad to get the debriefing over with, despite the honorable award he had recieved. He was just too tired, too burnt out to want to do anything except rest at the moment. But he probably wouldn't get much rest for a while, since Tuxedo Ral slapped him on the back harshly as they exited the debriefing room.  
  
"Hey, Gordo'," the arrogant old fool babbled as they walked, "check out this medal. Doesn't it make me look pretty? Doesn't it?"  
  
"Yeah, real cute, Tux," Glenn responded, not showing anything but sarcasm in his voice.  
  
"Me and all the others are gonna head off-based to one of the bars in the nearest town. Are you comin'?"  
  
"No, I don't think so." Glenn just sighed heavily. He was plum exhausted, and besides, he had no desire to see the bizarre Tuxedo Ral when he was drunk. The guy was more than Glenn could put up with sometimes when he was sober already. "I'm just gonna go and sleep for a week or something. You go ahead."  
  
"Your loss," Tux cackled while shrugging his shoulders. "I'm-ah order everything 'til I barf twice. You heard Cap'n Beauregard, today's a day of celebration. Or butt-kicking, whichever one he said."  
  
And the rambunctious, high-flying bigmouth walked off, his arms quickly wrapping around the waistes of two female pilots, letting loose some tall tale they didn't initially seem interested in. Glenn held his head for a moment, wondering to himself if Tux was ever going to press the "off" switch on himself. Still, he was glad to have a good friend like Tuxedo Ral. He was one in a billion, after all, and he'd proved his friendship to Glenn time and time again in the past few months.  
  
He could say the same for all the other Thunderbolt pilots as well. Even on his first mission, taking out that Blue Moon rocket, they had displayed to him their tenacity for comradery in the ranks. It was plainly obvious that the Orange Star air force held tighter bonds amongst themselves than Blue Moon, Green Earth, Yellow Comet, or Black Hole ever would. At that moment, with this realization coming to him, Glenn Gordon felt quite lucky to be here in the midst of all this, despite how overwhelmingly tired he was at the same time.  
  
He began to stride along in the opposite direction in the hallway swiftly, looking to locate the aisle that led towards the pilot's wing so he could get some rest, but Glenn quickly found himself face-to-face with Rainey Banker, who was quickly exiting the debriefing room herself. Glenn nearly bumped into her, startling the female pilot slightly as she exited the room.  
  
"Oh," she uttered quietly, "hey, Glenn. Are you going to the bar in town with that crazy fool Tux and everyone else?"  
  
Glenn shook his head rapidly. No way. "I just want to go rest for a while. All that action wore me out, to be honest. Even after everything that happened at Krasst, I didn't feel as tired as I do right now. I feel like the sandman's just poured a truckload of dust all over my head or something."  
  
"Oh," she repeated. Glenn studied her face. She seemed disappointed about something, but Glenn wasn't quite sure about what just yet.  
  
"Why?" he eventually asked, curious.  
  
She just shrugged casually as she tucked some of her blonde hair behind one of her ears. "Well, he invited me to go with them, but I didn't want to. I can't stand beer. I'm just gonna go to the reception area and get some coffee. I need to think about everything that's happened today."  
  
The Thunderbolt leader nodded, finding that to be a reasonable answer.  
  
Rainey hesitated a bit before asking her next question. Glenn already knew what she was going to ask him before she even said anything, but he didn't let that stop her. "Did you want to come with me?"  
  
Glenn only stood there a few moments, looking her in the eyes. Then he smiled pleasantly, his strength quickly returning. "Definitely."  
  
He took her hand in his and began to walk down the hallway with her towards the reception area. Even now, he could hear the laughter of friendly voices coming from numerous rooms in the base, probably belonging to pilots just like him, or Tux, or Rainey, or anyone else in their squadron. Glenn knew now at this moment that this was his new home - Not Reagan, but amongst people like him. Among the pilots of the Orange Star air force. Among Thunderbolt Squadron. Among Rainey.  
  
And as they walked, hand in hand, Glenn Gordon recalled the final words that Commander George Beauregard had used in his speech to the pilots for their acts of bravery in the fight that had occured at Fate's Point.  
  
"Some of you are the bravest people I have personally ever met or heard of. To take your skills against that of the enemy's, facing such overwhelming odds, is unheard of in such a day and age. Yet while the battle is won, the war is not. Perhaps we will face even greater challenges ahead of us, in scenarios impossible to predict, but that is not something we need worry of.  
  
"For while you serve your country in the finest aircraft in the known world, you are the true fighters. You are your country's finest men and women, the greatest pilots Orange Star has to offer. And rest assured, your participation in this battle for our way of life is not yet completed, but to fight onward is our purpose, our path, our way.  
  
"A fighter fights for liberty, peace, and honor. That is our way - The way of the fighter."  
  
--------  
  
~Fin~  
  
--------  
  
Author Notes:  
  
All good things come to an end. This is by far the shortest chapter in the entire story, but nothing else really needs to be done, to be frank. Glenn Gordon has finally come to terms with the fact that the Orange Star air force is where he truly belongs (and is also finally accepting his relationship with Rainey Banker, though I didn't get to work on that enough in previous chapters, I don't think), the threat of Black Hole has dimished with the destruction of Kailaff Boldigh and his squadron, and Tuxedo Ral is out drinking his butt off. A fairly happy ending, I'd say.  
  
I still don't think I worked on some things enough. For instance, the other members of Thunderbolt Squadron. Bubba Boggs got enough air time, but guys like Tristan Royal and Achmed Yahasatitapen will need more work when or if another story involving Glenn and the Thunderbolt squadron comes about some time. I also didn't quite get enough of Glenn's rivalry with Fel Banon into the picture, which was something I would have liked to write about greatly, but like I said, if another story rolls around involving these characters, that'll be a priority.  
  
But to be frank, if Glenn thinks he had a rivalry this time, against Boldigh or Banon, he doesn't quite know what may be in store for him in the future. Yes, that's a blatant teaser (provided I get writing again sometime soon, despite the obvious fact that I'm going to be going to school full time in around the middle of October for a seven month period).  
  
Right now, I'd like to thank all the folks who read the story, whether you reviewed or not. The fact that you even glanced at this story means very much to me. I'd especially like to give a very large thanks to Dr. Bross, who I could always count on to review every darn chapter that popped up there. When I started this thing, I was worried if I would even get a single review, and it almost has twenty-five now. Thanks much for the support, folks. It means alot to me.  
  
Anyway, I don't want the Author Notes to be longer than the chapter itself, so I'll stop here. Thank you very much for reading "the Fighters: Part II," I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it, and make sure to keep an eye out for any other fic I may end up producing in the future. Thanks again.  
  
-RustyD 


End file.
